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^° 


.  M  the  sam^ 


Chronicles  of  the  Schonberg-Cotta  Family. 

The  Early  Dawn. 

Diary  of  Kitty  Trevylyan. 

WiNiFRHD  Bertram. 

The  Draytons  and  the  Davenants. 

On   Both  Sides  of  the  Sea. 

Sacli  of  t/io  alcve  IcJongs  to  tlio  "^otta  family  Series ,'* 
and  are  uniform  in  size  and  landing. 

Poems—"  The  Women  of  the  Gospels,"  etc.     U'ith 
other  Poems  not  iefore  published.      7  ^ol.  78ino. 

Mary,  the  Handmaid  of  the  Lord. 

0ne  ^olj  JOmo. 

The  Song  without  Words. 

dedicated  to  Wiildren.     Square  7 Onto 


Published  by  M.   W.   DODD, 

Ijy  arra7ifje7nent  with  the  Siuthor, 


THE 


Draytons.and  the  Davenants 


A  8T0RT  OF 


THE    CIVIL   WARS. 


By  tlu  Author  of 
"Chronicle?    of   the    Schonberg-Cotta    Familt/ 

ETC.,     ETC. 


J^Vr; 


^  >7 


New  York  : 

U     W.   DODD,   506  BROADWAY. 

1  869. 


CARD  FROM  THE  AUTHOR. 

"  The  Author  of  the  '  Schonberg-Cotta  Family 
wishes  it  to  be  generally  known  among  the  readers  of  her 
books  in  America,  that  the  American  Editions  issued  by 
Mr.  M.  W.  Dodd,  of  New  York,  alone  have  the  Author'l 
lanction," 


NOTICE. 

This  Volu7ne  will  he  followed  next  year  by 

a  supplejuentary  Volu?ne  covering  the 

period  of  the  Conwionwealth  and 

the  Restoration,  and  embracing 

incidents   connected  with 

the    Early    History 

of  this  country. 


THE 


Draytons  and  the  Davenants 


INTRODUCTORY. 

lESTERDAY  at  noon,  wlien  the  house 
and  all  the  land  were  still,  and  the  men, 
with  the  lads  and  lasses,  were  away  at 
the  harvesting,  and  I  sat  alone,  with 
barred  doors,  for  fear  of  the  Indians  (who  hare  of 
late  shown  themselves  unfriendly),  I  chanced  to 
look  up  from  my  spinning-wheel  through  the  open 
window,  across  the  creek  on  which  our  house 
stands.  And  something,  I  scarce  know  what,  car- 
ried me  hack  through  the  years  and  across  the  seas 
to  the  old  house  on  the  borders  of  the  Fen  Country, 
in  the  days  of  my  childhood.  It  may  have  been 
the  quiet  rustling  of  the  sleepy  air  in  the  long 
grasses  by  the  water-side  that  wafted  my  spirit 
back  to  where  the  English  winds  sigh  and  sough 
among  the  reeds  on  the  borders  of  the  fens ;  it  may 
have  been  the  shining  of  the  smooth  water,  fur- 

(9) 


10  THE  DRAYTOKS  AXD 

rowed  by  the  trnck  of  the  water-fowl,  that  set  my 
memory  clown  beside  the  broad  Mere,  whose  gleam 
we  could  see  from  my  chamber  window.  It  may 
have  been  the  smell  of  this  year's  hay,  which  came 
in  in  sweet,  soft  gusts  through  the  lattice,  that 
floated  me  up  to  the  top  of  the  tiny  haystack,  made 
of  the  waste  grass  in  the  orchard  at  old  Netherby 
Manor,  at  the  foot  of  which  Roger,  my  brother, 
used  to  stand  while  I  turned  uj)  the  hay,  assisted  by 
our  Cousin  Placidia  (when  she  was  condescending), 
and  by  our  Aunt  Gretel,  my  mother's  sister,  when- 
ever we  had  need  of  her.  Most  probably  it  was 
the  hay.  For,  as  the  excellent  Mr.  Bunyan  has 
illustriously  set  forth  in  his  work  on  the  Holy  War, 
the  soul  hath  five  gates  through  which  she  holdeth 
parlance  with  the  outer  world.  And  correspondent 
with  these  outer  gates  from  the  sensible  world  in 
space,  meseemeth,  are  as  many  inner  gates  into  ^he 
inner,  invisible  world  of  thought  and  time ;  which 
inner  gates  ojjen  simultaneously  with  the  outer,  by 
the  same  spring.  But  of  all  the  mystic  sj^rings 
which  unlock  the  wondrous  inward  world,  none  act 
with  such  swift,  secret  magic  as  those  of  the  Gate 
of  Odors.  There  stealeth  in  unobserved  some  deli- 
cate perfume  of  familiar  field  flower  or  garden  herb, 
and  straightway,  or  ere  she  is  aware,  the  soul  is 
afar  off  in  the  world  of  the  past,  gathering  posies 
among  the  fields  of  childhood,  or  culling  herbs  in 
the  old  corner  of  the  old  garden,  to  be  laid,  by 
hands  long  since  cold,  in  familiar  chambers  long' 
since  tenanted  by  other  owners. 

Wherefore,  I  deem,  it  was  the  new,  sweet  smell. 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  j  , 

of  onr  New  England  hay  which  more  than  anything 
carried  me  back  to  the  old  house  in  Old  England, 
and  the  days  so  long  gone  by. 

"With  my  heart  in  far-off  days,  I  continued  my 
spinning,  as  women  are  wont,  the  hand  moving  the 
more  swiftly  for  the  speed  wherewith  the  thoughts 
travel,  until  my  thoughts  and  my  work  came  to  a 
pause  together  by  the  flax  on  my  distaff  being  ex- 
hausted. I  went  to  an  upj^er  chamber  for  a  fresh 
stock,  and  while  there  my  eye  lighted  on  an  old 
chest,  in  the  depths  whereof  lay  many  little  volumes 
of  an  old  journal  written  by  my  hand  through  a 
series  of  buried  years. 

An  irresistible  attraction  drew  me  to  them ;  and 
as  I  knelt  befoi'e  the  old  chest,  and  turned  over 
these  yellow  leaves,  in  some  cases  eaten  with  worms, 
and  read  the  \^riting — the  earlier  portions  of  it  in 
large,  laborious,  childish  characters,  as  if  each  letter 
were  a  solemn  symbol  of  weighty  import — the  later 
scrawled  hastily  in  the  snatched  intervals  of  a  busy 
and  tangled  life — I  seemed  to  be  looking  through  a 
series  of  stained  windows  into  the  halls  of  an  ancient 
palace.  On  the  windows  were  the  familiar  portraits 
of  a  little  eager  girl,  and  a  young  maiden  familiar 
to  me,  yet  strange.  But  the  paintings  were  also 
window-panes;  and,  after  the  first  glance,  the 
painted  panes  seemed  to  vanish,  and  I  saw  only  the 
l^alace  chambers  on  which  they  looked.  Not  empty 
chambers,  or  shadowy,  or  silent,  but  solid,  and 
fresh,  and  vivid,  and  full  of  the  stir  of  much  life ; 
so  that,  when  I  laid  down  those  old  pages,  and 
looked  out  through  the  declining  light  over  these 


18  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

new  shores,  across  this  new  sea,  towards  the  far-off 
England  which  still  lives  beyond,  it  seemed  for  a 
moment  as  if  the  sun  setting  behind  the  wide  west- 
ern woods,  the  strip  of  golden  corn-fields,  the  reapers 
returning  slowly  over  the  hill,  the  Indian  burial- 
mounds  beside  the  creek,  the  trim  new  house,  my 
old  quiet  self,  were  the  shadows,  and  that  Old  World, 
in  which  my  spirit  had  been  sojourning,  still  the 
living  and  the  real. 

Neighbor  Hartoi^'s  cheery  voice  roused  me  out 
of  my  dream,  and  I  hurried  down  to  cpen  the  door, 
and  to  set  out  the  harvest  supper. 

But  as  I  look  at  the  old  crumpled  papers  again 
to-day,  the  past  lives  again  once  more  before  me, 
and  I  will  not  let  it  die. 

There  is  an  hour  in  the  day  when  the  sun  has  set, 
and  all  the  dazzle  of  day  is  gone,  and  the  dusk  of 
night  has  not  set  in,  when  I  think  the  world  looks 
larger  and  clearer  than  at  any  other  time.  The  sky 
seems  higher  and  more  heavenly  than  at  other 
hours ;  and  yet  the  earth,  tinted  here  and  there  on 
its  high  places  with  heavenly  color,  seems  more  to 
belong  to  heaven.  The  little  landscape  within  our 
horizon  becomes  more  manifestly  a  portion  of  a 
wider  world.  And  is  there  not  such  an  hour  in 
life  ?  Before  it  passes  let  me  use  the  light,  and  fix 
in  my  mind  the  scenes  which  will  so  soon  vanish 
into  dreams  and  silence. 

The  first  entry  in  those  old  journals  of  mine  is : 

"  The  hcenty-eighth  day  of  March,  in  the  year  of  out 
Lord  sixteen  hundred  and  thirty-seven. — On  this  day,  twelve 
years  since,  King  Charles  was  proclaimed  King  at  White- 


THE  DA  VEN-ANTS.  1 3 

hall  Gate,  and  in  Chcapside ;  the  ivhile  the  rain  fell  in 
heavy  showers.  My  father  heard  the  herald;  and  my 
Aunt  Dorothy  well  remembers  the  rain,  because  it  spoiled 
a  slashed  satin  doublet  of  my  father's  (the  last  he  ever 
bought,  having  since  then  been  habited  more  soberly)  ; 
also  because  many  of  the  people  said  the  vpeather  was  of 
evil  promise  for  the  new  reign.  But  father  saith  that  is 
a  superstitious  notion,  unworthy  of  Christian  peojjle. 

"  Also  my  father  was  present  at  the  king's  coronation, 
on  the  5th  of  February  in  the  following  year.  Our  French 
Queen  would  not  enter  the  Abbey  on  account  of  her 
Popish  faith.  When  the  king  was  presented  bareheaded 
to  the  people,  all  were  silent,  none  crying  God  save  the 
King,  until  the  Earl  of  Arundel  bade  them ;  which  my 
father  saith  was  a  worse  omen  than  if  the  clouds  poured 
down  rivers." 

These  in  large  characters,  each  letter  formed  witli 
conscientious  pains. 

The  second  entry  is  diverse  from  the  first.  It 
runs  thus : 

"  Aiyril  the  tenth. — The  brindled  cow  hath  died,  leaving 
an  oi-phan  calf  Aunt  Gretel  saith  I  may  bring  up  the 
calf  for  my  own,  with  the  help  of  Tib  the  dairy-woman." 

The  diversity  between  these  entries  recalls  many 
things  to  me.  On  the  day  before  the  first  entry, 
father  brought  to  Roger  my  brother,  my  Cousin 
Placidia,  and  me,  three  small  books  stitched  neatly 
together,  and  told  us  these  were  for  us  to  use  to 
note  down  any  remarkable  events  therein.  "  For," 
said  he,  "  we  live  in  strange  and  notable  times,  and 
you  cliildren  may  see  things  before  you  are  grown, 
yea,  and  perchance  do  or  sufier  such  things  as  his- 
tory is  made  of." 
2 


H 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


The  stipulation  was,  tliat  "we  were  each  to  write 
independently,  and  not  to  borrow  from  the  other  ; 
which  was  a  hard  covenant  for  me,  who  seldom 
then  meditated  or  did  anythi'^'r  without  the  co- 
operation or  sanction  of  Roger, 

xlfter  much  solitaiy  pondering,  therefore,  I  ar- 
rived at  the  conclusion  that  history  especially  con- 
cerns kings  and  queens,  and  lesser  people  only  as 
connected  with  them.  That  is,  when  there  are 
kings  and  queens.  In  the  old  Greek  history  I  re- 
membered there  were  heroes  who  were  not  kings, 
but  I  supposed  they  did  instead.  But  the  English 
history  was  all  made  up  of  what  happened  to  the 
kings.  One  was  shot  while  hunting ;  another  was 
murdered  at  Berkeley  Castle;  the  little  princes 
were  smothered  in  the  Tower.  King  Edward  III. 
gained  a  great  victory  at  Crecy  in  France;  King 
Henry  V.  gained  another  at  Agincourt.  Of  course 
other  people  were  concerned  in  these  things.  Sir 
Walter  Tyrrel  shot  the  arrow  by  accident  that 
killed  King  "William,  and  some  wicked  people  must 
have  murdered  King  Edward  and  the  little  princes 
on  purpose.  And,  of  course,  there  were  armies  who 
helped  King  Edward  and  King  Henry  to  gain  their 
victories ;  but  none  of  these  people  would  have 
been  in  history,  I  thought,  except  as  connected 
with  the  kings.  A.t  the  same  time  I  thought  it  was 
of  no  use  to  relate  things  which  no  one  belonging 
to  me  had  had  anything  to  do  with,  because  any 
one  else  could  have  done  that  without  my  taking 
the  trouble  to  Avrite  a  note-book  at  all.  Therefore 
it  seemed  to  me  t  lat  my  fathei",  and  even  my  father's 


THE  DA  VE^ANTS. 


15 


BlasLed  satin  doublet,  fairly  became  historical  by 
having  been  present  at  the  King's  proclamation, 
and  Aunt  Dorothy  by  having  commented  thereon. 

The  second  entry  vras  caused  by  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent theory  of  history,  having  its  origin  in  a  talk 
with  Roger.  Roger  said  that  we  never  can  tell 
what  things  are  historical  until  afterwards,  and  that 
thei-efore  the  only  way  was  to  note  down  what 
honestly  interests  us.  If  these  things  prove  after- 
wards to  be  things  Avhich  interest  the  world,  our 
story  of  them  becomes  part  of  the  world's  story, 
and,  as  such,  history  to  the  people  Avho  care  for  us. 
But  to  note  down  feeble  echoes  of  f;xr-off  groat 
events,  in  which  we  think  we  ought  to  be  interested, 
is  no  human  speech  at  all,  Roger  thought,  but  more 
monliey's  imitative  chattering.  Every  one,  Roger 
thinks,  sees  everytliing  just  a  little  differently  from 
any  one  else,  and  therefore  if  every  one  would 
describe  truly  the  little  bit  they  do  see,  in  that  way, 
by  degrees,  we  might  have  a  perfect  picture.  But 
to  copy  what  others  have  seen  is  simply  to  depart 
with  every  fresh  copy  a  little  further  from  the  orig- 
icah  If,  for  instance,  said  he,  the  nurse  of  Julius 
Caesar  had  told  us  nursery  stories  of  what  Julius 
Caesar  did  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  it  would  have 
been  history;  but  the  opinions  of  Julius  Cassar's 
nurse  on  the  politics  of  the  Roman  republic  would 
probably  not  have  been  history  at  all,  but  idle  tattle. 

With  respect  to  kings  and  queens  being  the  only 
true  subjects  for  history,  also,  Roger  was  very 
scornful.  He  had  lately  been  paying  a  visit  to  Mr. 
John  Hampden,  Mr.  Oliyer  Cromwell,  and  others 


1 6  THE  DJiA  YT0N8  AND 

of  my  fhtlier's  friends,  and  he  had  returned  full  of 
indignation  against  the  tyranny  of  the  court  and 
the  prelates.  The  nation,  he  said  wise  men  thought, 
was  not  made  for  the  king,  but  the  king  for  the  na- 
tion. And,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Greek  history, 
the  Bible  history  was  certainly  not  filled  up  with 
kings  and  queens,  but  with  shepherds,  herdsmen, 
preachers,  and  soldiers ;  or  if  with  kings,  Avith  kings 
who  had  been  shepherds  and  soldiers,  and  who 
were  saints  and  heroes  as  well  as  kings. 

All  which  reasoning  decided  me  to  make  my  next 
entry  concerning  the  calf  of  the  brindled  cow, 
which  at  that  time  was  the  subject  in  the  world 
which  honestly  interested  me  the  most.  If  my 
father,  or  Roger,  or  Cousin  Placidia,  or  Aunt  Gretel, 
ever  became  historical  personages  (and,  as  Roger 
said,  who  could  tell?),  then  anecdotes  concerning 
the  calf  of  the  cow  which  my  father  owned  and 
Aunt  Gretel  cherished,  and  which  Cousin  Placidia 
thought  it  childish  to  care  so  much  about,  might 
become,  in  a  secondary  sense,  historical  also.  At 
all  events,  I  resolved  I  would  not  be  like  Julius 
Ctesar's  nurse,  babbling  of  politics. 

The  next  entry  was  : 

"  August  4,  1637. — Dr.  Antony  has  spent  the  evening 
with  us,  and  is  to  remain  some  days,  at  father's  entreaty, 
to  recruit  his  strength ;  Aunt  Dorothy  haying  knowledge 
of  medici'jal  herbs,  and  Aunt  Gretel  of  savory  dishes, 
which  may  be  of  use  to  him.  He  hath  narrowly  escaped 
the  jail-sickness,  having  of  late  visited  many  afflicted  good 
peoplo  in  the  prisons  tlu'ough  the  country,  as  is  his  cus- 
tom.     '  Sick  and  in  prison,'  Dr.  Antony  saith,  '  and  yo 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS. 


»7 


visited  me,'  is  plain  enougli  to  read  by  the  dimmest  ligtt, 
whatever  else  is  hard  to  understand.  He  told  us  of  two 
strange  things  which  happened  lately.  At  least  they  seem 
very  strange  to  me. 

"  In  the  Palace  Yard  at  Westminster,  on  the  30th  of 
last  June  (while  Roger  and  I  were  making  hay  in  the 
pleasant  sunshine  of  the  orchard),  Dr.  Antony  saw  three 
gentlemen  stand  in  the  jjillory.  The  pillory  is  a  wooden 
frame  set  up  on  a  platfonn,  where  wicked  peojile  are 
fastened  helplessly  like  savage  dogs,  with  their  heads  and 
hands  coming  thi-ough  holes,  to  make  them  look  ridicu- 
lous, that  people  may  mock  and  jeer  at  them.  But  father 
and  Dr.  Anthony  did  not  think  these  gentlemen  wicked, 
only  at  worst  a  little  hasty  in  speech.  And  the  peoi^le  did 
not  think  them  ridiculous ;  they  did  not  mock  and  jeer 
at  them,  but  kept  very  still,  or  wept.  Their  names  were 
]^Ir.  Prynne,  a  gentleman  at  the  bar,  Dr.  John  Bastwick,  a 
physician ;  and  Mx.  Burton,  a  clergyman  of  a  parish  in 
London.  There  they  stood  many  hoiu's  while  the  hang- 
man came  to  each  of  them  in  tm-n  and  sawed  off  their 
ears  with  a  rough  knife,  and  then  burnt  in  two  crael  let- 
ters on  their  cheeks,  S.  L.,  for  seditious  libeler.  Dr. 
Anthony  did  not  say  the  three  gentlemen  made  one  cry  or 
complaint,  but  bore  themselves  like  brave  men.  But  the 
bravest  of  all,  I  think,  was  3Ir3.  Bastwick,  the  doctor's 
wife.  She  stayed  on  the  scaffold,  and  bore  to  see  all  her 
husband's  pain  without  a  word  or  moan,  lest  she  should 
make  him  flinch,  and  then  received  his  ears  in  her  lap, 
and  kissed  his  poor  wounded  face  before  all  the  people. 
Sweet,  brave  heart  !  I  would  fain  have  her  home  amongst 
us  here,  and  kiss  her  faithful  hands  like  a  queen's,  and  lay 
my  head  on  her  brave  heart,  as  if  it  were  my  mother's  ! 
The  sufferers  made  no  moan  ;  but  the  peo2)lc  broke  their 
pitiful  silence  once  mth  an  angry  shout,  and  many  t:;jijt' 
with  low,  hijshed  groans,  as  if  the  pain  and  shame  wera 


1 8  THE  DRA  YTOXS  A  NB 

theirs  (Dr.  Anthony  said),  and  they  would  remember  it. 
And  Mr.  Prynne,  when  the  irons  were  burning  his  face, 
said  to  the  executioner,  '  Cut  me,  tear  me,  I  fear  not  thee ; 
I  fear  the  fire  of  hell.'  Mr.  Burton  spoke  to  the  people 
of  God  and  his  truth,  and  how  it  was  worth  while  to 
suffer  rather  than  give  up  that.  And  at  last  he  nearly 
fainted,  but  when  he  was  borne  away  into  a  house  near, 
he  said,  witli  good  cheer,  '  It  is  too  hot  to  last.'  (He 
meant  the  persecution.)  But  the  three  gentlemen  are  now 
shut  up  in  three  prisons — in  Launceston,  Lancaster,  and 
Caernarvon.  And  father  and  Dr.  Antony  say  it  is  Arch- 
bishop Laud  who  ordered  it  all  to  be  done.  But  could 
not  the  king  have  stopped  it  if  he  liked  ? 

"  But  will  Roger  and  I  ever  turn  over  the  hay  again  in 
the  pleasant  June  sunshine,  without  thinking  how  it 
burned  down  on  those  poor,  maimed  and  wounded  gentle- 
men ?  And  one  day  I  do  hope  I  may  see  brave  Mistress  Bast- 
wick  and  tell  her  how  I  love  and  honor  her,  and  how  the 
thought  of  her  will  help  me  to  be  brave  and  patient  more 
than  a  hundred  sermons. 

"  Dr.  Antony's  other  story  was  of  one  Jenny  or  Janet 
Geddes,  not  a  gentlewoman,  for  she  kept  an  apple  stall  in 
Edinburgh  streets,  and,  moreover,  does  not  appear  to  have 
used  good  language  at  all.  The  Scotch,  it  seems,  do  not 
like  bishops,  and,  indeed,  will  not  have  bishops.  But 
Archbishop  Laud  and  the  king  will  make  them.  On  Sun- 
day, the  23d  of  last  July,  a  month  since,  one  of  Arch- 
bishop Laud's  bishops  began  the  collect  for  the  day  in  St. 
Giles's  Cathedral,  Edinburgh.  Jenny  Geddes  had  brought 
her  folding  stool  (on  which  she  sat  by  her  apple  stall,  I 
suppose)  into  the  church,  and  when  the  bishop  came  out 
in  his  robes  (which  Ai'chbishop  Laud  likes  of  many  colors, 
while  the  Scotch,  it  seems,  will  have  nothing  but  black), 
she  took  up  her  stool  and  flung  it  at  the  bishop's  head, 
calling  the  service,  the  mass  and  the  bishop  a  thief,  and 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


>9 


wishing  him  very  ill  wishes  in  a  curious  Scottish  dialect, 
•which,  I  suppose,  I  do  not  quite  understand ;  for  it  sound- 
ed like  swearing,  and  if  Jenny  Geddes  was  a  good  woman 
(although  not  a  gentlewoman)  she  would  scarcely,  I  should 
think,  swear,  at  least  not  in  church.  Whether  the  bishop 
was  hurt  or  not,  no  one  seems  to  know  or  care.  I  suppose 
the  stool  did  not  reach  his  head.  But  it  stopped  the  ser- 
vice. For  all  the  people  rose  in  great  fury,  not  against 
Jenny  Geddes,  but  against  the  bishop,  and  the  archbishop, 
and  the  prayer-book,  and  against  all  bishops  and  all  pray- 
ers in  books,  not  in  Edinburgh  only,  but  throughout  the 
land.  Wliich  shows,  father  said,  that  a  great  deal  of 
angry  talk  had  been  going  on  beforehand  in  the  streets 
around  Jenny  Geddes'  apple  stall.  There  must  always  be 
some  angry  person,  father  said,  to  throw  the  folding  stool, 
but  no  one  heeds  the  angiy  person  unless  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  angry  about." 

«' 
A  very  long   entry,  which  lost  me  many  hours 

and  many  pages. 

And  about  the  passages  in  my  own  history  wliich 
it  led  to,  not  a  word.  Indeed,  throughout  these 
journals  I  notice  that  it  -is  more  what  they  recalJ 
than  what  they  say  which  brings  back  the  past  to 
me.  I  wonder  if  it  is  not  thus  with  most  diaries. 
For  to  keep  to  Roger's  rule  of  writing  tlie  things 
which  really  interest  us  at  the  time  seems  to  me 
scarcely  possible ;  because  at  the  time  we  scarcely 
know  what  things  are  most  deeply  interesting  us, 
and  if  we  do,  they  are  the  very  things  we  cannot 
w^rite  about.  Underneath  the  things  we  see  and 
think  and  speak  about  are  the  great,  dim,  silent- 
places  out  of  which  we  ourselves  are  growing  into 
being,  and  where  God  is  at  Avork.     The  things  Wo 


so 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


are  beginning  to  see  we  can  not  see,  the  tnings  wa 
are  feeling  without  knowing  what  we  feel,  the  dim, 
struggling  thoughts  we  cannot  utter  or  even  thmk. 
Without  form  and  void  is  the  state  of  a  world  being 
created.  "When  the  world  is  created,  the  creation 
is  a  history,  and  cau  be  written.  While  it  is  being 
created,  it  is  chaos,  and  from  without  can  only  be 
described  as  without  form  and  void — from  within, 
in  the  chaos,  not  at  all.  The  Creator  only  under- 
stands chaos,  and  knows  the  chaos  before  the  new 
creation  from  the  mere  waste  and  ruin  of  the  old. 

To  understand  the  past  is  only  partly  possible  for 
the  wisest  men. 

To  understand  the  present  is  only  possible  to 
God. 

Because  to  understand  the  present  would  be  to 
foresee  the  future.  To  see  through  the  chaos  would 
be  to  foresee  the  new  creation. 

Wherefore  it  seems  to  me  all  diaries  are  of  value 
not  as  records,  but  as  suggestions.  And  all  self-ex- 
amination resolves  itself  at  last  into  prayer,  saying, 
"  What  I  see  not,  teach  Thou  me.'' 

"  Search  me  and  try  me,  and  see  Thou,  and  lead 
Thou  me." 

The  passages  in  my  history  that  this  story  of  Dr. 
Antony  led  to,  arise  before  me  as  clearly  as  if  they 
happened  yesterday,  although  in  the  Journal  not  a 
hint  of  them  is  given. 

The  Sunday  after  Dr.  Antony  had  told  us  those 
terrible  things  about  the  sufferings  in  the  pillory, 
Roger  and  I  had  gone  to  our  usual  Sunday  after- 
noon perch  in  an  apple-tree  in  the  corner  of  the 


THE  DAVENANTS.  21 

orchard  furthest  from  the  house.  "We  had  taken 
with  us  for  our  coJtemplation  a  very  terrible  deli- 
neation, which  was  the  nearest  approach  to  a  pic- 
ture Aunt  Dorothy  would  let  us  have  on  the  Sab- 
bath-day. This  she  permitted  us,  partly,  I  believe, 
because  it  was  not  the  likeness  of  anything  in 
heaven  or  earth  (nor,  I  hope,  under  the  earth), 
and  partly  on  account  of  the  very  awful  thoiights 
it  was  calculated  to  inspire. 

It  was  a  huge  branching  thing  like  our  old  family 
tree.  But  at  the  root  of  the  tree,  where  would  be 
the  name  of  Adam  or  Noah,  or  ^neas  of  Troy,  or 
Cassibelaun,  or  whoever  else  was  recognized  as 
the  head  of  the  fomily,  stood  the  sacred  name  of 
the  Holy  Trinity,  From  this  trunk  forked  off  two 
leading  branches,  one  representing  the  wicked  and 
the  other  the  just,  with  the  words  written  along 
them  to  show  that  the  very  same  mercies  and 
means  of  grace  which  produce  repentance  and  faith 
and  love  in  the  hearts  of  the  just,  produce  bitter- 
ness and  false  security  and  hatred  of  God  in  the 
hearts  of  the  wicked.  Further  and  further  the 
branches  diverged  until  one  ended  in  an  angel  with 
wings,  and  the  other  in  a  mouth  of  a  horrible  hob- 
goblin with  a  whale's  mouth,  a  dragon's  claws, 
and  a  lion's  teeth,  and  both  were  united  by  the 
Imes, — 

"  Whether  to  heaven  or  hell  you  bend, 
God  will  have  gloiy  in  the  end."* 

*  A  similar  tree  is  to  be  seen  in  the  beg^uniug  of  Bunyan'a 
PUgrim's  Progress,  in  the  edition  of  1698. 


22    -  THE  DRA  YTOXS  AND 

Most  terrible  was  this  delineation  to  me,  sitting 
tliat  sunny  autumn  day  in  the  apple-tree,  especially 
because  if  you  were  once  on  the  wrong  branch,  it 
was  not  at  all  pointed  out  hoAV  you  Avere  ever  to 
get  on  the  right.  AU  seemed  as  irrevocable  and 
inevitable  as  that  poin!:  in  our  own  pedigree  where 
Edwy,  the  eldest  son,  became  a  Benedictine  monk 
and  vanished  into  a  thin  flourish,  and  Walter,  the 
second  son,  married  Adalgiva,  heiress  of  Netherby 
Manor,  and  branched  off  into  us.  And  it  looked  so 
terribly  (with  unutterable  terror  I  felt  it)  as  if 
it  mattered  as  little  to  the  Holy  Trinity  what  be- 
came of  any  one  of  us,  as  to  Cassibelaun  or  Noah 
what  became  of  his  descendants,  Edwy  or  Wal- 
ter. 

So  it  haj^pened  that  Roger  and  I  sat  very  awe- 
stricken  and  still  in  our  perch  in  the  apple-tree, 
while  the  wind  fluttered  the  green  leaves  around 
us,  and  the  sunbeams  ripened  the  rosy  apples  for 
their  work,  and  then  danced  in  and  out  on  the  grass 
below  for  their  play.  And  I  remember  as  if  it  were 
yesterday  how  the  thought  shuddered  through  my 
heart,  that  the  same  sun  which  was  shining  on  Ro- 
ger and  me,  on  that  last  30tli  of  June,  making  hay 
in  the  orchard,  was  at  that  very  same  moment 
scorching  those  poor  wounded  gentlemen  in  the 
pillory  in  the  Palace  Yard,  and  not  losing  a  Avhit 
of  its  glory  to  us  by  all  the  anguish  it  was  inflict- 
ing, like  a  blazing  furnace,  on  them.  And  if  this 
fearful  tree  were  true,  did  it  not  seem  as  if  it  were 
the  same  with  God? 

I  sat  some  time  silent  under  the  weight  of  this 


THE  I) A  VENANTS. 


23 


dread.  It  made  me  shiver  witli  cold  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  at  length  I  could  keep  it  in  no  longer, 
and  said  to  Roger,  in  a  whisper,  for  I  was  half  afraid 
to  hear  my  own  words, — 

"  Oh,  Roger,  why  did  -not  God  kill  the  devil  ?" 

At  that  moment  something  shook  the  tree,  and  I 
cluno-  to  Roger  in  terror.  I  could  not  see  what  it  was 
from  among  the  thick  leaves  where  we  were  sitthig. 
I  trembled  at  the  echo  of  my  own  voice.  The  dark 
thoughts  within  seemed  to  have  brought  night  with 
its  nameless  terrors  into  the  heart  of  day.  But 
Roger  leant  down  from  the  branch,  and  said, — 

"  Cousin  Placidia  !  For  shame  !  You  shook 
the  tree  on  purpose.  I  heard  the  apples  fall  on 
the  ground,  and  you  are  picking  them  up.  That  is 
cheating." 

For  the  fallen  fruit  was  the  right  of  us,  children. 

Said  Placidia  in  a  smooth,  unmoved  voice, — 

"  I  came  against  the  stem  of  the  tree  by  acci- 
dent, and  perhaps  I  did  shake  it  a  little  more 
than  T  need,  when  I  heard  what  Olive  said.  They 
were  very  wicked  words,  and  I  shall  tell  Aunt  Dor- 
othy." 

"You  may  tell  any  one  you  like,"  said  Roger  in- 
dignantly. "  Olive  did  not  mean  to  say  anything 
wrong.  You  are  cruel  enough  to  sit  in  the  Star- 
chamber,  Placidia." 

"  She  is  exactly  like  our  gray  cat,"  he  continued 
to  me,  as  she  glided  away,  "  with  her  soft,  noiseless 
ways,  and  her  stealthy,  steady  following  of  her  own 
interests.  When  the  fowl-house  was  burnt  down 
last  year,  and  the  turkeys  were  screaming,  and  the 


24 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


hens  cackling,  and  every  one  flying  hither  and 
thither  trying  to  save  somehody  or  something,  I 
saw  the  gray  cat  quietly  licking  her  lips  in  a  corner 
over  a  poor  singed  chicken.  I  believe  she  thought 
the  whole  thing  had  been  set  on  foot  to  roast  her 
supper.  And  Placidia  would  have  done  precisely 
the  same.  If  London  were  on  fire,  and  she  in  it,  I 
believe  she  would  contrive  to  get  her  supj^er  roasted 
on  the  cinders.  And  the  provoking  thing  is,  she 
thinks  no  one  sees." 

Roger  was  not  often  vehement  in  speech,  but 
Placidia  was  our  standing  grievance,  his  and  mine. 
There  were  certain  little  unfoirnesses,  not  quite 
cheating,  certain  little  meannesses,  not  quite  dis- 
honesties, and  certain  little  prevarications,  not  quite 
lies,  which  always  excited  his  greatest  wrath,  espe- 
cially when,  as  often  happened,  I  was  the  loser  or 
the  sufferer  by  them. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  tell  Aunt  Dorothy?"  I 
said,  for  that  very  morning  Placidia  and  I  had  had 
a  quarrel,  she  having  pinched  my  arm  where  it  could 
not  be  seen,  and  I  having  to  my  shame  bitten  her 
finger  where  it  could  be  seen. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,"  said  Koger 
loftily.  "  What  is  the  good  of  minding  ?  I  sup- 
pose we  must  all  go  through  a  certain  quantity  of 
punishment,  Olive,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  it  will  do 
us  good  for  the  future,  if  we  did  not  deserve  it  by 
the  past.  At  least  Aunt  Dorothy  says  so.  Go  on 
with  what  you  were  saying." 

So  I  recurred  to  my  question. 

"  Oh,  Roger,  I  wish  I  knew  why  God  did  not  de- 


THE  DA  VEN~ANT8. 


H 


Btroy  the  devil  in  tlie  beginning,  or  at  least  not  let 
him  come  into  the  garden.  Because,  then,  nothing 
would  have  gone  wi'ong,  would  it  ?  Eve  would  not 
have  eaten  the  fruit,  Mr.  Prynne  and  Dr.  Bastwick 
would  not  have  been  set  in  the  pillory.  And  I 
should  not,  most  likely,  have  quarrelled  with  Pla- 
cidia,  because,  I  suppose,  Placidia  would  not  have 
been  provoking." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  why  my  Father  lets  Cousin  Pla- 
cidia live  with  us,  and  always  be  making  us  do 
wrong,"  said  Roger. 

"  She  is  an  orphan,  and  some  one  must 
take  care  of  her,  you  know,"  I  said.  "Besides, 
surely.  Father  has  reasons,  only  we  don't  always 
know." 

"  And  I  suppose  God  has  reasons,"  said  Roger 
reverently,  "  only  we  don't  always  know." 

"  But  the  devil  is  all  bad,"  said  I,  "  and  will 
never  be  better;  and  Cousin  Placidia  may.  It 
could  not  be  for  the  devil's  own  sake  God  did  not 
kill  him,  for  he  only  gets  worse ;  and  I  do  not  see 
how  it  could  be  for  oui-s." 

"  The  devil  was  not  always  the  devil,  Olive,"  said 
Roger,  after  thinking  a  little  while.  *'  He  was  an 
angel  at  first." 

"  Then,  O  Roger,"  said  I  eagerly,  for  the  perplexi- 
ty lay  heavy  on  my  heart,  "  why  did  not  God  stop 
the  devil  from  ever  being  the  devil  ?  That  would 
have  been  better  than  anything." 

Roger  made  no  reply. 

"It  cannot  be  because  God  coixld  not,"  I  pur- 
Bued,  "  because  Aunt  Dorothy  says  He  can  do 
3 


26  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

eyerytLing.  And  it  cannot  be  because  He  would 
not,  because  Aunt  Gretel  says  He  bates  to  see 
any  one  do  wrong  or  be  unhappy.  But  there 
must  be  some  reason  ;  and  if  we  only  knew  it, 
I  think  everything  else  would  become  quite 
plain." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  reason,  Olive,"  said  Roger,  af- 
ter a  long  pause.  "  I  cannot  see  it  in  the  least.  I 
remember  hearing  two  or  three  people  discuss  it 
once  with  Father  and  Aunt  Dorothy ;  and  I  think 
they  all  thought  they  explained  it.  But  no  one 
thought  any  one  else  did.  And  they  used  ex- 
ceedingly long  and  learned  words,  longer  and 
more  learned  the  further  they  went  on.  But  they 
could  not  agree  at  all,  and  at  last  they  became  an- 
gry, so  that  I  never  heard  the  end.  But  in  two 
or  three  years,  you  know,  I  am  going  to  Oxford, 
and  then  I  will  try  and  find  out  the  reason.  And 
when  I  have  found  it  out,  Olive,  I  will  be  sure  to 
tell  you." 

"  But  that  is  not  at  all  the  most  perplexing  thing 
to  me,  Olive,"  he  began,  after  a  little  silence ; 
"  because,  after  all,  if  we  or  the  angels  were  to  be 
persons  and  not  things,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be 
helped  that  we  might  do  wrong  if  we  liked. 
The  great  puzzle  to  me  is,  why  we  do  anything, 
or  if  we  can  help  doing  anything  we  do ;  that  is, 
if  we  are  really  ijersons  at  all,  and  not  a  kind  of 
puppets." 

"  Of  com-se  we  are  not  puppets,  Roger,"  said  I. 
"  Of  course  we  can  help  doing  things  if  we  like.  I 
do  not  think  that  is  any  puzzle  at   all.     I  could 


THE  DA  VENANIS. 


^^ 


have  helloed  biting  Placidia's  finger  if  I  had  liked-^ 
that  is,  if  I  had  tried.  And  that  is  what  makes  it 
wrong." 

"  But  you  did  not  like  it,"  said  Roger,  "  and  so 
you  did  not  help  it.  And  what  was  to  make  you 
like  to  help  it,  if  you  did  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  been  good,  I  should  not  have  liked 
to  hurt  Placidia,  however  provoking  she  was,"  1 
said. 

"  And  what  is  to  be  good  ?"  said  he. 

"  To  like  to  do  right,"  I  said.  "  I  think  that  is  to 
be  good." 

"  But  what  is  to  make  you  like  to  do  right  ?" 

"  Being  good,  to  be  sure,"  said  I,  feeling  myself 
helplessly  drawn  into  the  whirlpool. 

"  That  is  going  round  and  round,  and  coming  to 
nothing,"  said  Roger.  "But  leaving  alone  about 
right  and  wrong,  what  is  to  make  you  do  any- 
thing ?" 

"  Because  I  choose,"  said  I,  "  or  some  one  else 


"  But  what  makes  you  choose  ?"  said  he.  "  What 
made  you  choose,  for  instance,  to  come  here  this  af- 
ternoon ?" 

"  Because  you  wished  it,  and  because  it  was 
a  fine  afternoon;  and 'we  always  do  when  it  is," 
said  I. 

"  Then  you  chose  it  because  of  something  in  yon 
which  makes  you  like  to  please  me,  and  because  the 
eun  was  shining.  Neither  of  which  you  could  help  \ 
therefore  you  did  not  really  choose  at  all." 

"  I  did  choose,  Roger,"  said  I.     "  I  might  have 


28  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

felt  cross,  and  chosen  to  disappoint  you.  if  I  had 
liked." 

"  But  you  are  not  cross ;  you  are  good-tempered, 
on  the  whole,  so  you  could  not  help  liking  to  please 
me," 

"But  I  am  cross  sometimes  with  Placidia,"  I 
said. 

"  That  is  because,  as  Aunt  Gretel  says,  your 
temper  is  like  what  our  mother's  was,  quick  but 
sweet,"  said  he ;  "  and  that  is  a  deeper  puzzle  still, 
because  it  goes  fui-ther  back  than  you  and  your 
character,  to  our  mother's  character,  that  is  to  say; 
and  if  to  hers,  no  one  can  say  how  much  further, 
probably  as  far  as  Eve." 

"  But  sometimes,"  said  I, "  for  instance,  when  you 
talk  like  this,  my  temper  is  tempted  to  be  cross  even 
with  you,  Koger.  But  I  choose  to.  keep  my  temper, 
and  it  must  be  I  myself  that  choose,  and  not  my 
temper  or  my  mother's." 

"  That  is  because  of  the  two  motives,  the  one 
which  inclines  you  to  keep  your  temper  is  stronger 
than  the  one  which  inclines  you  to  lose  it,"  said  he. 
"  But  there  is  always  something  before  your  choice 
to  make  you  choose,  so  that  really  you  mnst  choose 
what  you  do,  and  therefore  you  do  not  really  choose 
at  all." 

"  But  I  do  choose,  Roger,"  said  I.  "I  choose  this 
instant  to  jump  down  from  this  tree — so — and  go 
home." 

"That  proves  nothing,"  said  he,  following  me 
down  from  the  tree  with  provoking  coolness  ;  "  you 
chose  to  jump  down,  because  there  is  a  wilful  feel 


THJi'  DA  VENANTS. 


29 


ing  in  you  which  made  you  choose  i1,,  and  that  is 
part  of  your  character,  and  probably  can  be  traced 
back  to  Eve,  and  proves  exactly  what  I  say." 

"  I  am  not  free  to  do  right  or  wrong,  or  anything, 
Koger !"  I  said.  "  Then  I  might  as  well  be  a  cat, 
or  a  tree,  or  a  stone." 

"  I  suppose  you  might,  if  you  were,"  said  Roger 
drily. 

"  Is  there  no  way  out  of  the  puzzle,  Roger  ?"  I 
said. 

"  I  do  'not  see  any,"  he  said ;  "  at  least  not  by 
thinking.  But  there  seems  to  me  no  end  to  the 
puzzles,  if  one  begins  to  think." 

He  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  at  all,  but  rather  to 
enjoy  it,  as  if  it  were  a  mere  tossing  of  mental  balls 
and  catching  them. 

But  I,  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  great  bewilder- 
ment and  heaviness,  for  I  felt  like  being  a  ball  my- 
self, tossed  helplessly  round  and  round,  without 
seeing  any  beginning  or  end  to  it,  and  it  made  me 
very  unhappy. 

We  came  back  to  the  house  at  supper-time  with  a 
vague  sense  of  some  judgment  hanging  over  our 
heads.  Aunt  Dorothy  met  us  in  the  porch  with  a 
switch  in  her  hand. 

"  Naughty  children,"  said  she, "  Placidia  says  she 
heard  you  using  profane  language  in  the  apple-tree, 
taking  God's  holy  name  in  vain." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  so  much  of  God,  Aunt  Dor- 
othy," said  I  in  confusion,  "  as  of  the  devil." 

"  Worse  again,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  that  is 
swearing  downright.  It  is  as  bad  as  the  cavaliera 
3* 


30  THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 

at  the  Court.  Hold  out  your  hand,  Roger;  and, 
Olive,  go  to  bed  without  supper." 

Roger  scorned  any  self-defence.  He  held  out  his 
hand,  and  received  three  sharp  switches  without 
flinching.     Only  at  the  end  he  said, — 

"Now  I  shall  tell  my  father  how  Placidia  stole 
the  apples  and  get  justice  done  to  Olive." 

"You  will  tell  your  father  nothing,  sir,"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy.  "I  have  sent  Placidia  to  bed 
three  hours  ago  for  tale-bearing,  and  given  her 
the  chapter  in  the  Proverbs  to  learn.  And  you 
will  sit  down  and  learn  the  same,  and  both  of  you 
say  it  to  me  to-morrow  morning  before  breakfast." 

This  was  what  Aunt  Dorothy  considered  even- 
handed  justice.  Time,  she  said,  was  too  precious 
to  spend  in  searching  out  the  rights  of  children's 
quarrels,  and  human  nature  being  depraved  as  it  is, 
all  accusations  had  probably  some  ground  of  truth, 
and  all  accusers  some  wrong  motive.  And  in  all 
quarrels  there  is  always,  said  she,  fault  on  both 
sides.  She  therefore  punished  accused  and  accuser 
alike,  without  further  investigation.  I  have  ob- 
served something  of  the  same  plan  pursued  since  by 
some  persons  who  aspire  to  the  character  of  impar- 
tial historians.  But  it  never  struck  me  as  quite 
fair  in  the  historians  or  in  Aunt  Dorothy.  How- 
ever, I  must  say,  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  case,  this  mode 
of  administering  justice  had  a  tendency  to  check 
accusations.  It  must  have  been  an  unusually  sti'ong 
desire  of  vengeance,  or  sense  of  wrong,  which  in- 
duced us  to  draw  up  an  indictment  which  was  sure 
to  be  visited  with  equal  severity  on  plaintiff  and 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  31 

defendant.  And  although  our  sense  of  justice  was 
not  satisfied,  and  Roger  and  I  in  consequence  form- 
ed ourselves  into  a  permanent  Committee  of  Griev- 
ances, the  peace  of  the  household  was  perhaps  on 
the  whole  promoted  by  the  system.  The  embitter- 
ing effects  were,  moreover,  softened  in  our  case  by 
the  presence  of  other  counteracting  elements, 

I  had  not  been  long  in  bed  according  to  the  de- 
crees of  Justice  in  the  person  of  Aunt  Dorothy,  when 
Mercy,  in  the  person  of  Aunt  Gretel,  came  to  bind 
up  my  wovinds. 

"  Olive,  my  little  one,"  said  she,  sitting  down  on 
tha  side  of  my  bed,  "  what  hast  thou  been  saying  ? 
Thou  wouldst  not  surely  say  anything  ungrateful 
against  the  lear  Lord  and  Saviour  ?" 

Whereu}  n  I  buried  my  face  in  the  bed-clothes, 
and  sobbed  so  that  the  bed  shooS:  under  me. 

She  took  my  hand,  and  bending  over  me,  said 
tenderly, — 

"  Poor  little  one  !  Thou  must  not  break  thy 
heart.  The  good  Lord  will  forgive,  Olive,  will  foi'- 
give  all.  Tell  me  what  it  is,  dai'ling,  and  don't  be 
afraid." 

Still  I  sobbed  on,  when  she  said, — 

"  If  thou  canst  not  tell  me,  tell  the  dear  Saviour. 
He  is  gentler  than  poor  Aunt  Gretel,  and  knows 
thee  better.  Only  do  not  be  afraid  of  Him, 
nothing  grieves  Him  like  that,  sweet  heart ;  any- 
thing but  that." 

Then  I  grev/  a  little  calmer,  and  moaned  out, — 

■ "  Indeed,  Aunt  Gretel,  I  did  not  mean  any- 
thinoj  wicked.       But  it  is  so  hard  to  understand. 


-2  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

There  are  so  many  things  I  cannot  mate  ont. 
And  oh,  if  I  should  be  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
tree  after  all !  If  I  should  be  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  tree !" 

■  And  at  the  thouglit  my  sobs  burst  forth  afresh. 
Aunt  Gretel  was  sorely  perplexed.     She  said — 

"What  tree,  little  one?  Where  is  thy  poor 
brain  wandering  ?" 

"The  tree  with  God  at  the  beginning,"  said  I, 
"  and  with  heaven  at  one  end  and  hell  at  the  other, 
and  no  way  to  cross  over  if  once  you  get  wrong, 
and  God  never  seeming  to  mind." 

"A  very  wicked  tree,"  said  Aunt  Gretel,  "I 
never  heard  of  it.  The  only  tree  in  the  Bible  is 
the  Tree  of  Life.  And  of  that  the  blessed  Lord 
will  o"ive  freely  to  every  one  who  com  ; — the  fruit 
for  life  and  the  leaves  for  healing.  Never  mind  the 
other,  sweet  heart." 

"  If  there  were  only  a  way  across !"  said  I,  "  and 
if  I  could  be  sure  God  did  care  !" 

"There  is  a  way  across,  my  lamb,"  said  she. 
"  Only  it  is  not  a  way.  It  is  but  a  step.  It  is  a 
look.  It  is  a  touch.  For  the  way  across  is  the 
blessed  Saviour  Himself,  And  He  is  always  nearer 
than  I  am  now,  if  you  could  only  see." 

"  And  God  does  care,"  said  I,  "  whether  we  are 
lost  or  saved  ?" 

"  Care !  little  Olive,"  said  she.  "  Hast  thou  for- 
o-otten  the  mano;er  and  the  cross  ?  That  comes  of 
trying  to  see  back  to  the  beginning.  He  was  m 
the  beginning,  sweet  heart,  but  not  thou  or  I !  He 
k  the  beginning  every  day  and   for   ever  to  us. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


33 


Look  to  Him.  His  face  is  shining  on  you  now, 
watching  you  tenderly  as  if  it  were  your  mother's, 
my  poor  motherless  lamb.  Whatever  else  is  dark, 
that  is  plain.  And  you  never  meant  to  grieve  or 
question  Him  !  You  did  not  mean  to  say  the  dark- 
ness was  in  Him,  Olive  !  You  never  meant  that. 
Put  the  darkness  anywhere  but  there,  sweet  heart 
— anywhere  but  there.  There  is  darkness  enough, 
in  good  sooth.  But  in  Him  is  no  darkness  at  all." 
And  then  she  murmured,  half  to  herself,  "  It  is  very 
strange.  Dr.  Luther  made  it  all  so  plain,  more  than 
a  hundred  years  ago.  And  it  seems  as  if  it  all  had 
to  be  done  over  again," 

"  Didst  thou  say  thy  prayers,  my  lamb  ?"  she 
added. 

I  had.  But  it  was  sweet  to  kneel  down  with 
Aunt  Gretel  again,  with  her  arms  and  her  warm 
dress  folded  around  me,  and  say  the  words  after 
her,  the  Our  Father,  and  the  prayer  for  father  and 
Roger  and  all. 

But  when  I  came  to  ask  a  blessing  on  Cousin 
Placidia,  my  lips  seemed  unable  to  frame  the  words. 

"  Thou  didst  not  pray  for  thy  cousin,  Olive,"  said 
Aunt  Gretel. 

"  She  is  so  very  difficult  to  love,  Aunt  Gretel," 
said  I ;  "  she  often  makes  me  do  wrong.  And  I 
bit  her  finger  this  morning." 

Aunt  Gretel  shook  her  head. 

"  Poor  little  one,"  said  she,  "  ah,  yes  !  It  ia 
always  hardest  to  forgive  those  we  have  hurt." 

"  But  she  pinched  my  arm  where  no  one  could 
see,"  said  I. 


34 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AM) 


"It  will  not  help  thee  to  think  of  that,  poor 
lamb,"  said  Aunt  Gretel,  "  what  thou  hast  to  do  is 
to  forgive.  Think  of  what  will  help  thee  to  do 
that." 

"I  can't  think  of  anything  that  helps  me," 
said  I. 

"  Dost  thou  wish  anything  bad  to  happen  to  thy 
cousin  ?"  said  Aunt  Gretel,  after  a  pause.  "  If  thou 
couldst  bring  trouble  on  her  by  praying  for  it, 
wouldst  thou  do  it  ?" 

"  No,  not  from  God,"  said  I.  "  Of  course  I  could 
not  ask  anything  bad  from  God." 

"  Then  wouldst  thou  ask  thy  father  to  send  her 
away,  poor  neglected  orphan  child  that  she  was  ?" 

"  Xo,  no,  Aunt  Gretel,"  I  said,  "  not  that.  But  I 
should  like  to  see  her  punished  by  Aunt  Dorothy." 

"  How  much  ?"  said  Aunt  Gretel. 

"  I  am  not  sure.  Only  as  much  as  she  quite  de- 
serves." 

"  That  would  be  a  good  deal  for  us  all,"  said  she ; 
"  perhaps  even  for  thee  a  little  more  than  going  to 
bed  one  night  without  supper." 

"  Then  until  she  was  good,"  said  I. 

"  Thou  wishest  thy  cousin  to  be  good,  then  ?" 
said  Aunt  Gretel.  "  Then  thou  canst  at  least  pray 
for  that." 

"It  would  make  the  house  like  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  I  think,"  I  said,  "  before  the  tempter  came,  if 
Placidia  were  only  not  so  provoking." 

"  Would  it  ?"  said  she,  gravely.  "  Art  thou  then 
always  so  good?  Then,  perhaps,  thou  canst  ask 
that  thy  cousin's  trespasses  may  be  forgiven,  even 


THE  DAVENANTS.  35 

if  thou  canst  not  forgive  lier,  and  hast  none  of  thine 
own  to  be  forgwen  !" 

"O,  xVunt  Gretel."  said  I,  suddenly  perceiving 
her  meaning,  "  I  see  it  all  now  \  It  Is  the  bit  of  ice 
in  my  own  heart  that  made  everything  dark  and 
cold  to  me.     It  is  the  bit  of  ice  in  my  own  heart !" 

She  smiled  and  folded  me  to  her  heart. 

And  then  she  prayed  once  more  for  Placidia  the 
orphan,  and  for  me,  and  Roger,  that  God  in  His 
great  pity  would  bless  ns  and  forgive  its,  and  make 
us  good  and  loving,  and  like  Himself  and  His  dear 
Son  who  suffered  for  us  and  bore  our  sins." 

And  after  that  I  did  not  so  much  care  even 
whether  Roger  brought  the  answer  he  promised 
from  Oxford  or  not. 

And  it  flashed  on  me  for  an  instant,  as  if  the 
answer  to  Roger's  other  puzzle  might  come  some- 
how from  the  same  point ;  as  if  it  answered  every- 
thing to  the  heart  to  think  that  light  and  not  dark- 
ness, love  and  not  necessity,  are  at  the  innermost 
heart  of  all.  For  love  is  at  once  perfect  freedom 
and  inevitable  necessity. 

But  before  I  fell  asleep,  while  Aunt  Gretel  was 
Btill  sitting  on  the  bedside  with  her  knitting,  1 
heard  her  say  to  herself — 

"  Not  so  very  strange — not  so  strange  after  all, 
although  Dr.  Luther  did  make  it  all  clear  as  sun- 
shine more  than  a  hundred  years  ago.  It  is  that 
bit  of  ice  in  the  heart,  that  bit  of  ice  that  is  always 
fi'eezing  afresh  in  the  heart." 

But  Aunt  Dorothy,  on  a  night's  consideration, 
thought  the  affair  of  the  apple-tree  too  important 


>,6  THE  DRA  TTONS  AND 

to  1)6  passed  over,  as  most  of  oui'  childish  quan'ela 
■vv^re.  without  troubling  my  father  about  them. 

Accordingly"  the  next  morning  we  were  sum- 
moned into  ray  father's  private  room,  where  he 
received  his  rents  as  a  landlord,  and  sentenced 
offenders  as  a  magistrate,  and  kept  his  law-books, 
and  many  other  great  hereditary  folios  on  divinity, 
philosophy,  and  things  in  general.  A  very  solemn 
proceeding  for  me  that  morning,  my  conscience 
oppressed  with  a  sense  of  having  done  some  wrong 
intentionally,  and  I  knew  not  how  much  more  with- 
out intending  it. 

Gradually,  Roger  and  I  standing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  with  the  law-books  and  the  mathe- 
matical instruments  my  father  was  so  fond  of  be- 
tween us,  he  drew  from  us  what  had  been  the 
subject  of  our  conversation. 

Then,  to  my  surprise,  as  we  stood  awaiting  our 
sentence,  he  called  me  gently  to  him,  and,  seating 
me  on  his  knee,  pointed  out  a  paper  spread  on  a 
huge  folio  volume,  which  lay  open  before  him.  It 
was  a  diagram  of  the  sun  and  the  planets,  with  the 
four  moons  of  Jupiter,  the  earth  and  the  moon, 
complicated  by  circles  and  lines  mysteriously  inter- 
secting each  other. 

"  Olive,"  said  he,  "  be  so  good  as  to  explain  that 
to  me.  It  is  made  by  a  gentleman  who  learned  about 
it  from  the  great  astronomer  Galileo,  and  is  meant 
to  explain  hoAV  the  earth  and  the  sun  are  kept  in 
their  places."  I  looked  at  the  complication  of  fig- 
ures and  Jines  and  magical-looking  signs,  and  then 
in  his  face  to  see  what  he  could  mean. 


THE  DA  VEKANTS. 


57 


"  You  do  not  understand  it  ?"  he  said,  as  if  ho 
were  surprised. 

"Father,"  said  I,  "  a  little  child  like  me !" 

"  And  yet  this  is  only  a  drawing  of  a  little  comer 
of  the  world,  Olive — the  sun  and  the  earth  and  a 
/ew  of  the  planets  in  the  nook  of  the  world  in  which 
we  live.  The  whole  universe  is  a  good  deal  harder 
to  understand  than  this." 

"  Father,"  said  I,  ashamed  and  blushing,  "  indeed 
I  never  thought  I  could  understand  these  things—^ 
at  least  not  yet ;  I  only  thought  you  might,  or 
some  wise  people  somewhere." 

"  Olive,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  tenderly  and 
reverently,  stroking  my  head  while  he  spoke,  "  be- 
fore the  great  mysteries  you  and  Roger  have  fallen 
on,  I  can  only  wonder,  and  wait,  and  say  like  you, 
^Father,  a  Utile  child  like  me  P  And  I  do  not  think 
the  great  Galileo  himself  could  do  much  more." 

But  to  Roger  he  said,  rising  and  laying  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder — 

"  Exercise  your  Avits  as  much  as  you  can,  my 
hoy ;  but  there  are  two  kinds  of  roads  I  advise  you 
for  the  most  part  to  eschew.  One  kind  are  the 
roads  that  lead  to  the  edge  of  the  great  darkness 
which  skirts  our  little  patch  of  light  on  every  side. 
The  other  are  the  roads  that  go  in  a  circle,  leading 
you  round  and  round  with  much  toil  to  the  point 
from  which  you  started.  I  do  not  say,  never  travel 
on  these — you  cannot  always  help  it.  But  for  the 
most  part  exercise  yourself  on  the  roads  which  lead 
somewhere.  The  exercise  is  as  good,  and  the  result 
better."  And  he  was  about  to  send  us  away. 
4 


38  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

But  Aunt  Dorothy  was  not  at  all  satisfied. 
"  That  Signor  Galileo  was  a  very  dangerous  per- 
son," she  said.  "  He  said  the  sun  went  round, 
and  the  earth  stood  still,  which  was  contrary  at 
once  to  common  sense,  the  five  senses,  and  Scrip- 
ture ;  and  if  chits  like  Roger  and  me  were  allowed* 
to  enter  on  such  false  philosophy  at  our  age,  where 
i>;hould  we  have  wandered  at  hers  ?" 

"  Not  much  further.  Sister  Dorothy,"  said  my 
Father,  "  if  they  reached  the  age  of  Methuselah. 
Not  much  further  into  the  question,  and  not  much 
nearer  the  answer." 

"  I  see  no  difiiculty  in  the  question  at  all,"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy.  "The  Almighty  does  everything 
because  it  is  His  will  to  do  it.  And  we  can  do 
nothing  except  He  wills  us  to  do  it.  Which  an- 
swers Olive  and  Roger  at  once.  All  doubts  are  sins, 
and  ought  to  be  crushed  at  the  beginning." 

"  How  would  you  do  this,  Sister  Dorothy  ?"  asked 
my  Father ;  "  a  good  many  persons  have  tried  it  be- 
fore and  failed." 

"  How !  The  simplest  thing  in  the  woi-ld," 
said  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  In  the  first  place,  set 
people  to  work,  so  that  they  have  no  time  for 
such  foolish  questions,  and  genealogies,  and  conten- 
tions." 

"  A  wholesome  plan,  which  seems  to  be  very  gen- 
erally pursued  with  regard  to  the  whole  human 
race,"  said  Father.  "  It  is  mercifully  provided  that 
those  who  have  leisure  for  such  questions  are  few. 
But  what  else  would  you  do  ?" 

"  For  the  children  there  is  the  switch,"  said  Aunt 


THE  DA  FUiVANTS. 


39 


Dorothy.  "  They  ■would  be  thankful  enough  for  it 
when  they  grew  wiser." 

"  So  think  the  Pope  and  Archbishop  Laud,"  re- 
plied my  Father ;  "  and  so  they  set  up  the  Inquisi- 
tion and  the  Star  Chamber." 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  Inquisition  and 
the  Star  Chamber,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  if  they 
would  only  punish  the  right  people." 

"But  sometimes  we  learn  we  have  been  mis- 
taken ourselves,"  said  Father.  "  How  can  we 
be  sure  we  are  absolutely  right  about  every- 
thing ?" 

"/«?«,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  emphatically.  "Thank 
Heaven  I  have  not  a  doubt  about  anything.  Heresy 
is  worse  than  treason,  for  it  is  treason  against  God  ; 
and  worse  than  murder,  for  it  is  the  murder  of  im- 
mortal souls.  The  fault  of  the  Pope  and  Archbishop 
Laud  is  that  they  are  heretics  themselves,  and  pun- 
ish the  wrong  people." 

This  was  a  point  often  reached  in  discussions 
between  my  Father  and  Aunt  Dorothy,  but  this 
time  it  was  happily  closed  by  the  clatter  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  pavement  of  the  court  before 
the  house. 

My  father's  face  brightened,  and  he  rose  hastily, 
exclaiming,  "A  welcome  guest,  Sister  Dorothy — the 
Lord  of  the  Fens — sot  the  table  in  the  wainscoted 
parlour." 

He  left  the  room,  and  we  children  watched  a  tall, 
stalwart  gentleman,  well  known  to  us,  with  a 
healthy,  sunburnt  face,  alight  from  his  horse. 

"  The  Lord  of  the  Fens,  indeed  !"  said  Aunt  Dor- 


40 


THE  DRAYT0N8  AND 


otliy  in  a  disappointed  tone,  as  she  looked  out  of 
the  window.  "  Why,  it  is  only  Mr,  Oliver  Crom- 
well of  Ely,  with  his  coat  as  slovenly  as  usual,  and 
his  hat  without  a  hat-band.  I  am  as  much  against 
gewgaws  as  any  one.  If  I  had  my  way,  not  a 
slashed  doublet,  or  ribboned  hose,  or  feather,  or 
lace,  should  be  seen  in  the  kingdom.  But  there  is 
reason  in  all  things.  Gentlemen  should  look  like 
gentlemen,  and  a  hat  without  a  hat-band  is  going 
too  far,  in  all  conscience.  The  wainscoted  parlour, 
in  good  sooth !  Why,  his  boots  are  covered  with 
mud,  and  I  dare  wai*rant  it,  he  will  never  think  of 
rubbing  them  on  the  straw  in  the  hall.  And  they 
will  get  talking,  no  one  knows  how  long,  about  that 
everlasting  draining  of  the  Fens.  I  can't  think 
why  they  won't  let  the  Fens  alone.  They  did  very 
well  for  our  fathers  as  they  were,  and  they  were 
better  men  than  we  see  now-a-days ;  and  if  the  Al- 
mighty made  the  Fens  wet,  I  suppose  he  meant 
them  to  be  wet ;  and  people  had  better  take  care 
how  they  run  against  His  designs.  And  they  say 
the  king  is  against  it,  or  against  somebody  con- 
cerned in  it,  so  that  there  is  no  knowing  what  it 
may  lead  to.  All  Scotland  in  a  tumult,  and  the 
godly  languishing  in  prison,  and  our  parson  putting 
on  some  new  furbelow  and  setting  up  some  new 
fandango  every  Sabbath ;  and  a  godly  gentleman 
like  Mr.  Oliver  Cromwell  (for  he  is  that,  I  don't 
deny)  to  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  try  and 
squeeze  a  few  acres  more  of  dry  land  out  of  the  Fens !" 

But  Roger  whispered  to  me, — 

"Mr.  Hampden  says  Mr.  Cromwell  would  be  the 


THE  BAVENANTS.  41 

greatest  man  in  England  if  things  should  c  ome  to 
the  worst,  and  there  should  be  any  disturbance  with 
the  king." 

At  that  moment  my  father  called  Roger,  and  to 
his  delight  he  was  allowed  to  accompany  him  and 
our  guest  over  the  farm. 

And  the  next  entry  in  my  Journal  is  this, — 

"  Mr.  Oliver  Cromwell  of  Ely  was  at  oiir  house  yester- 
day. Rog'er  walked  over  the  farm  with  him  and  my  father. 
Their  discourse  was  concerning  twenty  shillings  which  the 
king  wants  to  oblige  My.  Hampden  of  Great  Hampden  to 
lend  him,  which  Mr.  Hampden  wiU  not,  not.  because  he 
cannot  afford  it,  but  because  the  king  would  then  be  able 
to  make  every  one  lend  him  money  whether  they  like  it  or 
not,  or  whether  they  are  able  or  not.  They  call  it  the 
ship-money.  Concerning  this  and  also  concerning  some 
good  men,  ministers  or  lectiuers,  whom  Mr.  Cromwell 
wishes  to  set  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  people  in  places 
where  no  one  else  preaches,  so  that  they  can  understand, 
but  whom  Archbishop  Laud  has  silenced  with  fines  and 
many  threats.  Aunt  Dorothy  thinks  it  a  pity  godly  men 
like  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr.  Cromwell  should  concern  them- 
selves about  such  poor  worldly  things  as  shillings  and 
pence.  Regarding  the  lecturers,  she  says  that  they  have 
more  reason.  Only,  she  says,  it  is  a  wonder  to  her  they 
will  begin  with  such  small  insignificant  things.  Let  them 
set  to  work,  root  and  branch  (says  she),  against  Popery 
under  false  names  and  in  high  places,  and  these  lesser 
mattei-s  will  take  care  of  themselves.  But  fother  says, 
'poor  worldly  things'  are  just  the  things  by  which  we 
are  tried  and  proved  whether  we  will  be  faithful  to  the 
high  unworldly  calling  or  not.  And  '  small  insignificant 
things'  are  the  beginnings  of  everything  that  lives  and 
endui-es,  from  a  British  oak  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'' 
4* 


Chapter   II. 

May  Day,  1638. 
Ills  morning,  before  break  of  day,  I  went  to 
loathe  my  face  in  the  May  dew  by  tbe  Lady 
Well,  There  I  met  Lettice  Davenant  with 
her  maidens.  She  was  dressed  in  a  kirtle  of 
grass-green  silk,  with  a  blue  taifetas  petticoat,  and  her 
eyes  were  like  wet  violets,  and  her  brown  hair  like  wavy 
tangles  of  soft  glossy  uns^^un  silk,  specked  and  woven  with 
gold,  and  she  looked  like  a  sweet  May  flower,  just  lifting 
itself  out  of  its  green  sheath  into  the  sunshine,  and  all  the 
colours  changing  and  blending  into  each  other,  as  they  do 
in  the  flowers.  And  she  laid  her  soft,  little  hand  in  mine, 
and  said  her  mother  loved  mine,  and  she  wished  I  would 
love  her,  and  be  her  friend.  And  she  kissed  me  with  hei- 
dear,  sweet,  little  mouth,  like  a  rosebud — like  a  child's. 
And  I  held  her  close  in  my  arms,  with  her  silky  hair  fall- 
ing on  my  shoulder.  She  is  just  so  much  shorter  than  I 
am.  And  her  heart  beat  on  mine.  And  I  will  love  her 
all  my  life.     No  wonder  Roger  thinks  her  fair. 

"  I  will  love  her  all  my  life,  v*'hatever  Aunt  Dorothy 
says. 

"  Firstly,  because  I  cannot  help  it.     And  secondly,  be- 
cause I  am  sure  it  is  right — right— right  to  love ;  always 
right  to  love — to  love  as  much,  as  dearly,  as  long,  as  deep 
(42) 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  4^ 

as  we  can.  Always  right  to  love,  never  right  to  despise, 
or  keep  aloof,  or  turn  aside.  Sometimes  right  to  hate,  at 
least  I  think  so  ;  sometimes  right  to  be  angry,  I  am  sure 
of  that ;  but  never  right  to  despise,  and  always— always 
right  to  love. 

*'For  Roger  and  I  have  looked  well  all  through  the 
Gospels  to  see.  And  the  Pharisee  despised,  the  Priest  and 
the  Levite  passed  by,  and  the  disciples  said  once  or  twice, 
send  her  away.  But  the  Lord  drew  near,  called  them  to 
Him,  touched,  took  in  His  arms,  loved,  always  loved. 
Loved  when  they  were  wandering — loved  when  they  would 
not  come  ;  loved  even  when  they  '  went  away.' 

"  And  Aunt  Gretel  thinks  the  same.  Only  I  sometimes 
wish  we  had  lived  in  the  times  she  speaks  of,  told  of  in 
certain  Family  Chronicles  of  hers,  a  centuTy  old.  For 
tnen  it  was  the  i3eople  with  the  wrong  religion  who  dc- 
si^ised  others,  and  were  harsh  and  severe.  And  they  went 
into  convents,  which  must  have  been  a  great  relief  to  the 
rest  of  the  family.  And  now  it  seems  to  be  the  people 
with  the  right  religion  who  do  like  the  Pharisees.  And 
they  stay  at  home,  which  is  more  difficult  to  understand, 
and  more  unpleasant  to  bear." 

A  very  vehement  utterance,  crossed  through  with 
repentant  lines  in  after  times,  but  still  quite  legi- 
ble, and  of  interest  to  me  for  the  vanished  outer 
world  of  life,  and  the  tumultuous  inward  world  of 
revolt  it  recalls. 

For  that  May  morning,  on  my  way  home  through 
the  wood,  I  met  the  village  lads  and  lasses  bringing 
home  the  jNIay ;  and  when  I  reached  the  house,  it 
was  late;  the  serving  men  and  maidens  had  finished 
their  meal  at  the  long  table  in  the  hall,  and  Aunt 
Dorothy  sat  at  one  end  o''  the  table,  which  crossed 


44 


THb  DRAYTONS  AND 


it  at  tlie  top,  and  span;  and  Cousin  Placidia  sat 
silent  at  the  other  end  and  span,  the  whirr  of  theii 
spinning-wheels  distinctly  reproaching  me  in  a 
steady  hum  of  displeasure,  until  I  was  constrained 
to  reply  to  it  and  to  Aunt  Dorothy's  silence. 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,  prithee,  forgive  me.  I  only  went 
to  bathe  my  face  in  the  May  dew  by  the  Lady  Well. 
And  there  I  met  Lettice  Davenant." 

"  I  never  reproached  thee,  child,"  said  Aunt  Doro- 
thy. "  There  is  too  much  license  in  this  house  for 
that.  But  this,  I  will  say,  the  excuse  is  worse  than 
the  fault.  How  often  have  I  told  thee  not  to  stain 
thy  lips  with  the  idolatrous  title  of  that  well  ?  And 
as  to  bathing  thy  face  in  the  May  dew,  Olive,  it  is 
Popery — sheer  Popery." 

"  Not  Popery,  sister  Dorothy,"  said  my  Father, 
looking  up  from  his  sheet  of  news  just  brought  from 
London.  "  Xot  Popery ;  Paganism.  The  custom 
dates  back  to  the  ancient  Romans,  probably  to  the 
festival  of  the  goddess  Maia,  mother  of  Mercury, 
but  here  antiquarians  are  divided." 

"And  well  they  may  be,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  what  but  sects  and  divisions  can  be  expected  from 
such  tampering  with  vanities  and  idolatries  ?  For 
my  part,  it  matters  little  to  me  whether  the  custom 
dates  to  the  modern  or  the  ancient  Romans,  or  to 
the  Ilittites,  the  Perizzites,  the  Amorites,  and  the 
Jebusites.  Whoever  painted  the  idol,  I  have  little 
doubt  who  made  it.  And  of  the  two  I  like  the  un- 
christened  idols  best." 

"  Not  quite,  sister  Dorothy,  not  always,"  remon- 
etrated  my  Father,  "  it  is  certainly  a  great  mistake 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  45 

to  worship  the  Virgin  Mary.  But  the  Moloch  to 
■whom  they  burned  little  children  was  worse,  much 
worse." 

"  If  he  was,  the  less  we  hear  about  him  the  better, 
Brother,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  But  as  to  the  burn- 
ing I  see  little  difference.  You  can  see  the  black 
sites  of  Queen  Mary's  fires  still.  And  Lettice  Dave- 
nant  has  been  up  at  the  court  of  the  new  Queen 
Marie  (as  they  call  her)  ; — an  unlucky  name  for 
Encrland.  And  little  good  she  or  hers  are  like  to 
do  to  our  Olive." 

On  which  I  turned  wholly  into  a  boiling  caldron 
of  indignation ;  and  to  what  it  might  have  led  I 
know  not,  had  not  Aunt  Gretel  at  that  moment  in- 
tervened, ruddy  from  the  kitchen  fire,  and  with  the 
glow  of  a  pleasant  purpose  in  her  kindly  blue  eyes. 

"  They  are  like  to  have  the  blithest  May  to-day 
they  have  seen  for  many  a  year,"  said  she.  "  Our 
Margery,  the  daughter  of  Tib  the  dairywoman,  is 
to  be  queen.  And  a  better  maiden  or  a  sweeter 
face  there  is  not  in  all  the  country  side.  And  Dick- 
on, the  gardenei-'s  son  at  the  Hall,  is  her  sweetheart, 
and  the  Lady  Lucy  Davenant  has  let  them  deck 
the  bower  with  posies  from  her  own  garden,  and 
they  are  coming  from  the  Hall,  the  Lady  Lucy  and 
Sir  Walter,  and  ]Mistress  Lettice  and  her  five 
brothers,  to  see  the  jollity." 

"  Tell  Tib's  goodman  to  broach  a  barrel  of  the 
best  ale,  sister  Gretel,"  said  my  Father,  "  and  we 
will  go  and  see." 

This  was  said  in  the  tone  Aunt  Dorothy  never 
answered,   and  she  made  no  remonstrance  except 


46  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

through  the  whirr  of  her  spinning-wheel,  which 
always  seemed  to  Roger  and  me  to  he  a  kind  of 
^^ famulus,^''  or  a  second-self  to  Aunt  Dorothy  (of 
course  of  a  white  not  a  black  kind),  saying  the  thing 
she  meant  but  would  not  say,  and  in  a  thousand 
ways  spinning  out  and  completing,  not  her  thread 
only,  but  her  life  and  thought. 

My  Father  soon  rose  and  went  to  the  farm.  Aunt 
Dorothy  span  silent  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and 
Cousin  Placidia  at  the  other ;  while  I  sat  too  indig- 
nant to  eat  anything,  and  Aunt  Gretel  moved  about 
in  a  helpless,  conciliatory  state  between. 

"fThe  Bible  does  speak  of  being  merry,  sister 
Dorothy,"  said  she  at  length,  metaphorically  putting 
her  foot  into  Aunt  Dorothy's  spiritual  spinning,  as 
she  was  wont  to  do. 

"No  doubt  it  does,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy.  '"Is 
any  merry  among  you,  lot  him  sing  psalms.'  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  they  would,"  said  Aunt  Gre- 
tel, "there  is  nothing  I  enjoy  so  much.  And," 
pursued  she,  waxing  bold,  "  after  all,  sister  Doro- 
thy, the  whole  world  does  seem  to  sing  and  dance 
in  the  green  May,  the  little  birds  hop  and  sing, 
(sing  love-songs  too,  sister  Dorothy),  and  the  leaves 
dance  and  rustle,  and  the  flowers  don  all  the  colours 
of  the  rainbow." 

"  As  to  the  flowers,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  they 
did  not  choose  their  own  raiment,  so  no  blame  to 
them,  poor  perishing  things.  I  hold  they  w^ere 
clothed  in  their  scarlet  and  purple,  like  fools  in 
motley,  for  the  very  purpose  of  shaming  us  into 
being  sober  and  grave  in  our  atth-e.     The  birds,  in- 


THE  DA  VENANT8.  47 

deed,  may  hop  and  sing  if  they  like  it.  Not  that  I 
think  they  have  much  cause,  poor  inconsiderate 
creatures,  what  with  the  hirds'-nesting,  and  the 
poaching,  and  Mr.  Cromwell  draining  the  fens. 
But  they  have  no  foresight,  and  they  have  not  im- 
mortal souls,  and  if  they're  to  be  in  a  pie  to-morrow 
they  don't  know  it ;  and  they  are  no  worse  for  it  the 
day  after." 

"  But,"  said  Aunt  Gretel,  "  we  have  immortal 
souls,  and  I  think  that  ought  to  make  us  sing  a 
thousand-fold  better  than  the  birds." 

"  We  liave  not  only  souls,  we  have  sins,"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  and  there  is  enough  in  sin,  I  hold, 
to  stop  the  sweetest  music  in  the  world  when  the 
burden  is  felt." 

"  But  we  have  the  Gospel  and  the  Saviour,"  said 
Aunt  Gretel,  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy  to  all 
people." 

"Tell  them,  then,  to  the  people,"  said  Aunt 
Dorothy  ;  "get  a  godly  minister  to  go  and  preach 
them  to  the  poor  sinners  in  the  village,  and  that 
will  be  better  than  setting  up  May-poles  and  broach- 
ing beer  barrels." 

"  I  do  tell  them  whenever  I  can,  sister  Dorothy," 
said  Aunt  Gretel  moekly,  "  as  well  as  I  can.  But 
the  best  of  us  cannot  always  be  listening  to  ser- 
mons." 

"  We  might  listen  much  longer  than  we  do  if 
we  tried,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  branching  off  from 
the  subject.  "  In  Scotland,  I  am  told,  the  Sabbath 
services  last  twelve  hours." 

Aunt  Gretel  sighed ;  whether  iu  compassion  for 


48  THE  DBA  YTOyS  AND 

the  Scottish  congregations,  or  in  lamentation  over 
her  own  shortcomings,  she  did  not  explain. 

"  But,"  she  resumed,  "  it  does  seem  that  if  the 
good  God  meant  that  there  should  have  been  no 
meriy-making  in  the  world  he  would  have  arranged 
that  jDeople  should  have  come  into  the  world  fuH- 
grown," 

"  Probably  it  would  have  been  better  if  it  could 
have  been  so  managed,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  but 
I  suppose  it  could  not.  However  that  may  be,  the 
best  we  can  do  now  is  to  make  peoj^le  grow  uj)  as 
soon  as  they  can,  and  not  keep  them  babies  with 
May  games,  and  junketings,  and  possetings." 

"  But,"  said  Aunt  Gretel  timidly,  "  after  all,  sis- 
ter Dorothy,  the  Bible  docs  not  give  us  any  strict 
rules  by  which  we  can  judge  other  people  in  such 
things." 

"I  confess,"  replied  Aunt  Dorothy,  "that  if  there 
could  be  a  thing  to  be  v/ished  for  in  the  Bible  (with 
reverence  I  say  it),  it  is  just  that  there  were  a  few 
plain  rules.  St.  Paul  came  very  near  it  when  he 
was  speaking  of  the  weak  brethren  at  the  idol- 
feasts  ;  but  I  confess  I  do  think  it  would  have  beea 
a  help  if  he  had  gone  a  little  further  while  he  was 
about  it.  Then,  people  would  not  have  been  able 
to  pretend  they  did  not  know  what  he  meant.  I 
do  think  it  would  have  been  a  comfort  if  tliere  could 
have  been  a  book  of  Leviticus  in  the  oSTew  Testa- 
ment." 

"  But  your  Mr.  John  Milton,"  said  Aunt  Gretel, 
"  in  his  new  masque  of  Comus,  which  your  brotlier 
thinks  beautiful,  introduces  music  and  dancing." 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


49 


"  Mr.  Milton  is  a  godly  man,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy 
"  but,  poor  gentleman,  he  is  a  poet ;  and  poets  can 
not  always  be  expected  to  keep  straight,  like  rea- 
sonable people." 

"  But  Dr.  Martin  Luther  himself  dearly  loved 
music,"  said  Aunt  Gretel,  driven  to  her  final  court 
of  appeal,  "  and  even  sanctioned  dancing,  in  a  Chris- 
tian-like way,  without  rioting  and  drunkenness." 

"  Dr.  Luther  might,"  rejoined  Aunt  Dorothy. 
"Dr.  Luther  believed  in  consubstantiation,  and 
,  rejected  the  Epistle  of  St.  James.  And,  besides,  by 
this  time  he  has  been  in  heaven,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
for  nearly  a  hundred  years,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  he  knows  better." 

Aunt  Gretel  was  roused. 

"  Sister  Dorotby,"  she  said,  "  Dr.  Luthe:  does 
not  need  to  be  defended  by  me.  But  I  sometimes 
think  if  he  came  to  England  in  these  days  he  would 
think  some  of  you  had  gone  some  way  towai'ds 
painting  again  that  terrible  picture  of  God,  which 
made  the  little  ones  fly  from  Him  instead  of  taking 
refuge  with  Him,  and  which  it  took  him  so  much 
toil  to  destroy." 

And  she  fled  to  the  kitchen,  rosier  than  she 
came,  but  with  tears  instead  of  smiles  in  her 
eyes. 

"If  people  could  enjoy  themselves  harmlessly, 
without  rioting  and  drunkenness,"  said  Aunt  Doro- 
thy, half  yielding,  "  there  might  be  less  to  be  said 
against  it." 

"  What  is  rioting,  Aunt  Dorothy  ?"  asked  Pla« 
cidia  from  her  spinning-wheel. 


jc  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

"  Idling  and  romping,  and  doing  what  liad  "better 
not  be  done  nor  talked  about." 

"  Because,  Aunt  Dorothy,"  said  Placidia  solemnly, 
"  I  saw  Dickon  trying  to  kiss  our  Tib's  daughter, 
Margery,  behind  the  door ;  and  she  would  not  let 
him.  But  she  laughed  and  did  not  seem  angry.  Is 
that  rioting  ?" 

"  Dickon  may  kiss  Margery  as  often  as  he  likes 
without  hurting  you  or  any  one,  Placidia,"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy,  incautiously.  "  Margery  is  a  good 
honest  girl,  and  can  take  care  of  herself  And  you 
have  no  right  to  watch  what  any  one  does  behind 
doors.  You,  at  least,  shall  not  go  to  the  May-pole 
to-day,  but  shall  stay  with  me  and  learn  the  thir- 
teenth of  First  Corinthians." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  go  to  any  rioting  or  May 
games,"  said  Placidia.  "I  like  my  spinning  and 
my  book.  I  never  did  care  for  dancing  and  playing 
and  fooling.  Aunt  Dorothy,  I  am  thankful  to  say." 

"Don't  be  a  Pharisee,  Placidia,"  said  Aunt 
Dorothy,  turning  hotly  on  her  unwelcome  ally. 
"  Better  play  and  dance  like  a  flipperty-gibbet,  than 
watch  what  other  people  do  behind  doors,  and  tell 
tales." 

And  I  left  them  to  settle  the  controversy,  while 
I  went  to  join  Aunt  Gretel,  who  was  in  my  Father's 
chamber  preparing  for  me  such  sober  decorations 
in  honor  of  the  festivities  as  our  Puritan  wardrobes 
admitted  of  It  was  a  great  day  for  me ;  chiefly  for 
the  expectation  of  meeting  the  Lady  Lucy  and  the 
Bweet  maiden  Lettice. 

I  was  starting  full  of  glee  when  the  sight  of  Aunt 


THE  LA  VENAJSf  TS.  5  j 

Dorothy,  spinning  silently  in  the  hall  as  we  passed 
the  door,  with  Placidia  beside  her,  threw  a  little 
shadow  over  my  contentment.  Aunt  Dorothy  so 
completely  represented  to  me  the  majesty  of  law, 
and  at  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  both  Roger  and  I 
60  trusted  and  honored  her,  that  in  spite  even  of  my 
Father's  sanction,  something  of  misgiving  troubled 
me  at  the  sight  of  her  grave  face.  With  a  sudden 
impulse  I  ran  back,  and,  standing  before  her,  said — 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,  you  are  not  angry  ?  I  shall  not 
dance,  only  look,  and  soon  be  at  home  again,  and 
all  will  go  on  the  same  as  ever." 

She  shook  her  head,  but  more  sorrowfully  than 
angrily. 

"  Eve  only  looked,"  said  she,  "  but  nothing  went 
on  the  same  evermore," 

At  that  moment  my  father  came  back  to  seek  me, 
and,  catching  Aunt  Dorothy's  last  words,  he  said 
kindly  but  gravely,  "Do  not  let  us  trouble  the 
child's  conscience  with  our  scruples.  It  is  a  serious 
danger  to  force  our  scruples  on  others.  When  ex- 
perience of  their  own  peculiar  weaknesses  and 
besetments  has  led  them  to  scruple  at  things  for 
.themselves,  it  is  another  matter.  But  to  add  to 
God's  laws  is  almost  as  tremendous  a  mistake  as  to 
svibtract  from  them.  Our  additions,  moreover,  are 
sui-e  to  end  in  subtractions  in  some  other  direction. 
Indifferent  things  done  with  a  guilty  conscience  lead 
to  guilty  things  done  with  an  indifferent  conscience. 
In  inventing  imaginary  sins  you  create  real  sinners." 

"  Well,  brother,  it  is  as  you  please,"  said  Aunt 
Dorothy,  '"but  I  should  have  thought  our  new  par- 


52 


THE  DRAYTON 8  AND 


Bon  reading  from  that  blasphemous  *  Book  of  Sports* 
from  the  pulpit,  commanding  the  people  to  danoe 
around  the  May-poles  on  the  Sabbath  afternoons, 
was  enough  to  turn  any  serious  person  against 
them." 

"  Nay  ;  that  is  exactly  one  of  the  strongest  reasons 
why  I  go  to-day,"  said  my  father.  "  I  go  to  show 
that  it  is  not  the  May-poles  we  scruple  at,  but  the 
cruel  robbing  of  the  poor  by  the  desecration  of  the 
day  given  them  by  God  for  higher  things." 

And  he  led  me  away.  But  my  free,  innocent 
gladsomeness  was  gone. 

Conscience  had  come  in  with  her  questionings, 
and  her  discernings  and  her  dividings.  I  was  not 
sure  whether  God  was  pleased  with  me  or  with  any 
of  us.  Even  when  I  looked  at  the  garlanded  May- 
pole, I  thought  of  the  old  tree  in  Eden  with  its 
pleasant  fruit,  which  I  had  embroidered  with  a  ser- 
pent coiled  round  it,  darting  out  his  forked  tongue 
at  Eve.  I  wondered  whether  if  my  eyes  were 
opened  I  should  see  him  there,  writhing  among  the 
hawthorn  garlands,  or  hissing  envenomed  words 
into  the  ear  of  our  Tib's  Margeiy  as  she  sat  in  her 
royal  bower  of  green  boughs  crowned  with  flowers, 
or  gliding  in  and  out  among  the  dancers,  as  hand 
in  hand  they  moved  singing  around  the  May-pole, 
wreathing  and  unwreathing  the  long  garland  which 
united  them,  and  making  low  reverences,  as  they 
passed,  to  their  bhishing  Queen.  I  wondered 
whether  the  whole  thing  had  some  mysterious  con- 
nection  with  idolatry,  and  heaven  itself  were  after 
all  watching  us  with  grieved  displeasure^  like  Aunt 


TUE  DA  YENAKTS. 


53 


Dorothy,  and  secretly  preparing  fiery  serpents,  or  a 
rain  of  fire  and  brimstone,  or  a  thuuder  storm,  or 
whatever  came  instead  of  fiery  serpents  and  fire  and 
brimstone  in  these  days  when  there  were  no  more 
miracles. 

These  thoughts,  however,  all  vanished  when  the 
flxmily  appeared  from  the  Hall,  The  Lady  Lucy 
was  borne  by  two  men  in  a  sedan-chair  which  she 
had  brought  from  London,  a  thing  I  had  njever  seen 
before.  It  so  happened  that  I  had  never  seen  the 
Lady  Lucy  until  that  day.  The  family  had  been 
much  about  the  court,  and  on  the  few  occasions  on 
which  they  had  spent  any  time  at  the  Hall,  the 
Lady  Lucy's  health  had  been  too  feeble  to  admit  of 
her  attending  at  the  parish  church  with  the  rest  of 
the  family.  From  the  moment,  therefore,  that  Sir 
Walter  handed  her  out  of  the  chair  and  seated  her 
on  cushions  prepared  for  her,  I  could  not  take  my 
eyes  from  her,  not  even  to  look  at  Lettice.  So 
queenly  she  appeared  to  me,  such  a  perfection  of 
grace  and  dignity  and  beauty.  Her  complexion 
was  fair  like  Lettice's,  but  very  delicate  and  pale, 
like  a  shell ;  and  her  hair,  still  brown  and  abundant, 
was  arranged  in  countless  small  ringlets  around  her 
face.  On  her  neck  and  her  forehead  there  was  a 
brilliant  sparkle  and  a  glitter,  which  must,  of  course, 
have  been  from  jewels ;  and  her  dress  had  a  sheen 
and  a  gloss,  and  a  delicate  changing  of  gorgeous 
colours  on  it  which  must  have  been  that  of  velvet 
and  brocade  and  rare  laces.  But  in  my  eyes  she 
sat  wrapped  in  a  kind  of  halo  of  unearthly  glory. 
I  no  more  thought  of  resolving  it  into  the  texture 
6* 


5^  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

of  £,ny  earthly  looms  than  if  she  had  been  a  lily  oP 
a  (Star.  All  around  her  seemed  to  helong  to  her, 
like  the  moonbeams  to  the  moon  or  the  leaves  to  a 
flower.  Not  her  dress  only,  but  the  green  leaves 
which  bent  lovingly  down  to  her,  and  the  flowery 
turf  which  seemed  to  kiss  her  feet.  If  I  thought  of 
any  comparison,  it  was  Aunt  Gretel's  fairy-tale  of 
the  princess  with  the  three  magic  robes,  enclosed  in 
the  magic  nut-shells,  like  the  sun,  like  the  moon,  and 
like  the  stars. 

Even  Sir  Walter,  burly,  and  sturdy,  and  noisy, 
and  substantial  as  he  was,  seemed  to  me  to  acquire 
a  kind  of  reflected  glory  by  her  speaking  to  him. 
And  her  seven  sons  girdled  her  like  the  planets 
around  the  sun,  or  like  the  seven  electors  Aunt 
Gretel  told  us  about  around  the  emperor.  But 
wdien  at  last  her  eyes  rested  on  me,  and  she  whis- 
pered something  to  Sir  Y/alter,  and  he  came  across 
and  dofied  his  plumed  hat  to  my  father,  and  then 
led  me  across  to  her,  and  she  looked  long  in  my 
face,  and  then  up  in  my  father's,  and  said,  "  The 
likeness  is  perfect,"  and  then  kissed  me,  and  made 
me  sit  down  on  the  cushion  beside  her  with  lier 
hand  in  mine,  I  thought  her  voice  like  an  angePs, 
and  her  touch  seemed  to  me  to  have  something  hal- 
lowmg  in  it  which  made  me  feel  safe  like  a  little 
bird  under  its  mother's  wing.  The  silent  smile  of 
her  soft  eyes  under  her  smooth,  broad,  unfurrowed 
brow,  as  she  turned  every  now  and  then  and  looked 
at  me,  fell  on  my  heart  like  a  kiss.  And  I  thought 
no  more  of  Eve  and  the  serpent,  or  Aunt  Dorothy, 
or  anything,  until  she  rose  to  go.     And  then  she 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  55 

kissed  me  again.  But  I  scarcely  seemed  to  care 
that  she  should  kiss  me.  Her  presence  was  an  em- 
brace ;  her  smile  was  a  kiss ;  every  tone  of  her 
voice  was  a  caress.  A  tender  motherliness  seemed 
to  fold  me  all  round  as  I  sat  by  her.  As  she  left 
me  she  said  softly, — 

"  Little  Olive,  you  must  come  and  see  me.  Your 
mother  and  I  loved  each  other.'*  Then  holding  out 
her  hand  to  my  father,  she  added, — 

"  Politics  and  land-boundaries,  Mr.  Drayton,  must 
not  keep  us  any  longer  apart." 

He  bowed,  and  they  conversed  some  time  longer ; 
but  the  only  thing  I  heard  was  that  he  promised  I 
should  go  and  see  her  at  the  Hall. 

I  think  CA'^ery  one  felt  something  of  the  soft  charm 
there  was  in  her.  For,  quiet  and  retiring  as  she 
was,  when  she  left,  a  light  and  gladness  seemed  to 
go  with  her.  Before  long  the  dancing  and  singing 
stopped,  the  tables  were  set  on  the  green,  and  the 
feasting  began,  and  we  left  and  went  home. 

"  Oh,  Roger,"  said  I,  when  we  were  alone  that 
evening,  "  there  can  be  no  one  like  her  in  the 
world." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Roger  decisively.  "  Did  I 
not  always  say  so  ?" 

"  But  you  never  saw  her  before." 

"  Never  saw  her,  Olive  ?  How  can  I  help  seeing 
her  every  Sunday  ?  She  sits  at  the  end  of  the  pew 
just  opposite  mine," 

"  She  never  came  to  church,  Roger." 

"  Never  came  to  church  ?     Who  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?     The  Lady  Lucy,  to  be  sure." 


56 


TEE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


"  Oh,"  said  Roger,  "  I  thought,  of  course,  you 
were  speaking  of  Mistress  Lettice." 

But  when  we  came  back  to  Netherby,  full  as  my 
heart  was  of  my  new  love,  there  was  something  in 
Aunt  Dorothy's  manner  that  quite  froze  any  utter- 
ance of  it,  and  brought  me  back  to  Eve  and  the  ap- 
ple.    Yet  she  spoke  kindly, — 

"  Thou  lookest  gerious,  Olive,"  said  she.  "  Per- 
haps thou  didst  not  find  it  such  a  paradise  after  all. 
Poor  child,  the  world's  a  shallow  cup,  and  the 
sooner  we  drain  it  the  better.  I  think  better  of 
thee  than  that  thou  wilt  long  be  content  with  such 
May  games  and  vanities.     Come  to  thy  supper." 

But  my  honesty  compelled  me  to  speak.  I  did 
not  wish  Aunt  Dorothy  to  think  better  of  me  than 
I  deserved. 

"It  tvas  rather  like  paradise,  Aimt  Dorothy,"  I 
said. 

"  Paradise  around  a  May-pole,"  said  she  compas- 
sionately.    "  Poor  babe,  poor  babe  !" 

"  It  was  not  the  May-pole,"  said  I,  my  face  burn- 
ing at  having  to  bring  out  my  hidden  treasure  of 
new  love ;  "  not  the  May-pole,  but  Lady  Lucy." 

"Lady  Lucy  took  a  fancy  to  the  child.  Sister 
Dorothy,"  said  my  fathei-,  "  and  asked  her  to  the 
Hall."  And  loAvering  his  voice  he  added,  "She 
thought  her  like  Magdalene." 

I  had  scarcely  ever  heard  him  litter  my  mother's 
Christian  name  before,  and  now  it  seemed  to  fall 
from  his  lips  like  a  blessing. 

Aunt  Dorothy's  brow  darkened. 

"  Thou  wilt  never  let  the  child  go,  brother  ?" 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


SI 


He  did  not  at  once  reply. 

"Into  the  very  jaws  of  Babylon,  brother?  The 
Lady  Lucy  is  one  of  the  favourites,  they  say,  of  the 
Popish  Queen." 

"  Very  probably,"  said  my  father  dryly,  "  I  do 
not  see  how  the  Queen  or  any  one  else  could  help 
honouring  or  favouring  the  Lady  Lucy." 

My  heart  bounded  in  acquiescence. 

"  They  say  she  has  a  chapel  at  the  Hall  fitted  up 
on  the  very  pattern  of  Archbishop  Laud,  and  priests 
in  coats  of  no  one  knows  how  many  colours,  and 
painted  glass,  and  incense.  Thou  wilt  never  let  the 
poor  unsuspecting  lamb  go  into  the  very  lair  of  the 
Beast?" 

"  Thei'e  are  jewels  in  many  a  dust-heap.  Sister 
Dorothy,  and  the  Lady  Lucy  is  one,"  said  my  father 
a  little  impatiently,  for  Aunt  Dorothy  had  the  fac- 
ulty of  arousing  the  latent  wilfulness  of  the  meekest 
of  men.  "  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind." 

Had  he  known  how  deep  was  the  spell  on  me,  he 
might  have  thought  otherwise.  For,  ungrateful 
that  I  was,  having  lost  my  heart  to  this  fair  strange 
lady,  I  sat  chafing  at  Aunt  Dorothy's  injustice,  in  a 
wide-spread  inward  revolt,  which  bid  fair  to  extend 
itself  to  everything  Aunt  Dorothy  believed  or  re- 
quired. All  her  life-long  care  and  afiection,  and 
patient  (or  impatient)  toiling  and  planning  for  me 
and  mine,  blotted  out  by  what  I  deemed  her  blind 
injustice  to  this  object  of  my  worship,  who  had  but 
kissed  me  twice,  and  smiled  on  me,  and  said  half-a- 


pg  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

dozen   soft  words,  and  had  won  all  my  cliildisli 
heart ! 

And  yet,  looking  back  from  these  sober  hours,  I 
still  feel  it  was  not  altogether  an  infatuation.  Such 
true  and  tender  motherliness  as  dwelt  in  Lady  Lucy 
is  the  greatest  power  it  seems  to  me  that  can  invest 
a  woman. 

All  mothers  certainly  do  not  possess  it.  On  some, 
on  the  contrary,  the  motherly  love  which  passion- 
ately enfolds  those  within  is  too  like  a  bristling 
fortification  of  jealousy  and  exclusiveness  to  those 
without.  Or  rather  (that  I  dishonour  not  the  most 
sacred  thing  in  our  nature),  I  should  say,  the  moth- 
er's love  which  is  from  above  is  lowered  and  nar- 
rowed into  a  passion  by  the  selfishness  whicn  is 
not  from  above.  And  some  unmarried  women  pos- 
sess it,  some  little  maidens  even  who  from  infancy 
draw  the  little  ones  to  them  by  a  soft  ii-resistib!.e 
attraction,  and  seem  to  fold  them  under  soft  dove- 
like plumage.  Without  something  of  it  women  are 
not  women,  but  only  weaker,  and  shriller,  and 
smaller  men.  But  where,  as  in  Lady  Lucy,  the 
whole  being  is  steeped  in  it,  it  seems  to  me  the 
sweetest,  strongest,  most  irresistible  power  on  earth, 
to  control,  and  bless,  and  purify,  and  raise,  and  the 
truest  incarnation  (I  cannot  say  anything  so  cold  as 
image),  the  truest  embodying  and  ensouling  of  what 
is  divine. 

But  that  night  it  so  chanced  that  I,  who  had  fall- 
en asleep  lapped  in  sweet  memories  of  Lady  Lucy 
and  in  the  protection  of  Aunt  Gretel's  presence, 


THE  DA  VEN'ANTS. 


59 


was  awatened  by  the  long  i-oll  of  a  thunder-peal 
which  seemed  as  if  it  never  v/ould  end. 

For  some  time  I  tried  to  hide  myself  from  the 
flash  and  the  terrific  sound  under  the  bed-clothes. 
But  it  would  not  do.  At  length  I  sprang  speechless 
from  my  little  bed  to  Aunt  Gretel's,  She  took  me 
in  close  to  her.  And  there,  with  my  head  on  her 
shoulder,  speech  came  back  to  me,  and  I  said,  in  a 
frightened  whisper  (for  it  seemed  to  m.e  like  speak- 
ing in  church), — ■ 

"Aunt  Gretel,  will  the  last  trumpet  be  like 
that  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Olive,"  said  she  quietly.  "  More 
awful,  I  think,  yet  plainer,  for  we  shall  all  under- 
stand it,  even  those  in  the  graves ;  and  it  will  call 
us  home." 

"  O  Aunt  Gretel,"  I  said  at  last,  "  can  it  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  Mav-pole  ?  " 

"  Vv'kat,  sweet  heart !  the  thunder  ?  " 

"  It  is  God's  voice,  is  it  not  ?  Does  not  the  Bible 
say  so  ?  And  it  does  sound  like  an  angry  voice," 
I  whispered,  for  the  windows  were  rattling  and  the 
house  was  quivering  with  the  repeated  peals,  as  if 
in  the  grasp  of  a  terrible  giant. 

"  There  is  much  indeed  to  make  the  good  God 
angry,  my  lamb,  much  more  than  May-poles." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  there"  were  the  three  gentlemen 
in  the  pillory  !  That  must  have  been  worse  cer- 
taiidy.  But  do  you  think  God  can  be  angry  with 
me.  Aunt  Gretel  ?  " 

"  For  what,  sweet  heart  ?  " 


6o  THE  DRA  TT0F8  AND 

"For  loving  Lady  Luey,"  said  I ;  "  she  is  so  Tery 
sweet. " 

"  God  is  never  angry  witt  any  one  for  loving," 
said  Aunt  Gretel,  "  only  for  not  loving.  But  there 
is  a  better  voice  of  God  than  the  thunder,  Olive," 
added  she.  "  A  voice  that  does  not  roar  hut  speaks, 
sweet  heart.     Hast  thou  never  heard  that  ?  " 

I  was  silent,  for  I  half  guessed  what  she  meant. 

" '  It  is  /,  be  noi  afraid,^  "  she  said,  in  a  low,  clear 
tone,  contrasting  with  my  awe-stricken  whisper. 
"  Whenever  thou  dost  not  understand  the  voice  that 
thunders,  sweet  heart,  go  hack  to  the  voice  that 
speaks,  and  that  will  tell  thee  what  the  voice  that 
thunders  means." 

"  Aunt  Gretel,"  said  I,  after  a  little  silence,  "  it 
geemed  to  me  as  if  Lady  Lucy  were  like  some 
words  of  our  Saviour's.  As  if  everything  in  her 
were  saying  in  a  soft  dove's  voice,  '  Suffer  the  little 
children  to  come  unto  Me.'  Was  it  wrong  to  think 
so  ?  It  seemed  as  if  I  were  sitting  heside  my 
Mother,  and  then  I  thought  of  those  very  words. 
Was  it  wrong  ?  " 

"  Not  wrong,  my  poor  motherless  lamb,"  said 
she,  "  no,  surely  not  wrong.  Remember,  Olive, 
from  Paradise  downwards  the  worst  heresy  has  been 
slander  of  the  love  of  God ;  distrust  of  His  love, 
and  disbelief  of  the  awful  warniiigs  His  love  gives 
against  sin.  Whenever  we  feel  anything  very 
tender  in  any  human  love,  we  should  feel  as  if  the 
blessed  God  were  stretching  out  His  anns  to  us 
throi^gh   it,  and   saying,  '  That  is  a  little  like  the 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  6 1 

way  I  love  thee.  But  only  a  little,  only  a  lit- 
tle.' " 

And  the  thunder  rolled  on,  and  the  lightning  that 
night  cleft  the  great  elm  by  the  gate,  so  that  in  the 
morning  it  Stood  a  scorched  and  blackened  trunk. 

And  Aunt  Dorothy  said  what  an  awful  warning 
it  was.  But  to  me,  if  it  was  an  "  awful  warning," 
it  stood  also  like  a  parable  of  mercy.  I  could  not 
exactly  have  explained  why  ;  but  I  thought  I  could 
read  the  meaning  of  the  Yoice  that  thundered  by 
the  Voice  that  spoke. 

I  thought  how  He  had  been  scathed  and  bruised 
for  us. 

And  I  pleaded  hard  with  my  father  that  the  old 
•scathed  tree  might  not  be  felled.  For  to  me  its 
great  bare  blackened  branches  seemed  to  shelter  the 
house  like  that  accursed  tree  which  had  spread  its 
bare  arms  one  Good  Friday  night  outside  Jerusalem, 
and  had  pleaded  not  for  vengeance,  but  for  pity 
and  for  pardon. 

I  think  the  resentment  of  injustice  is  one  of  the 
first-born  and  strongest  passions  in  an  ingenuous 
heart.  And  to  this,  I  believe,  is  often  due  the  fall- 
ing off  of  children  from  the  party  of  their  parents. 
They  hear  hard  things  said  of  opponents  ;  on  closer 
acquaintance  they  find  these  to  be  exaggerations, 
or,  at  least,  suppressions;  the  general  gloom  of  a 
picture  being  even  more  produced  by  effacing  lights 
than  by  deepening  shadoAvs.  The  discovery  throws 
a  doubt  over  the  whole  range  of  inherited  beliefs, 
and  it  is  well  if  in  the  heat  of  youth  the  revulsion 
6 


62  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

is  not  far  greater  than  the  wi'ong  ;  if  in  their  indig- 
nation at  discovering  that  the  heretic  is  not  an  em- 
bodied heresy,  but  merely  a  human  creature  believ- 
ing something  wrong,  they  do  not  glorify  him  into 
a  martyr  and  a  model. 

For  Roger  and  me  it  was  the  greatest  blessing 
that  our  father  was  just  and  candid  to  the  extent 
of  seeing  (often  to  his  own  great  distress  and  j^er- 
plexity)  even  more  clearly  the  defects  of  his  own 
party  which  he  might  correct,  than  of  the  other  side, 
which  he  could  not ;  and  that  Aunt  Gretel  was  aj^t 
to  see  all  opinions  and  characters  melted  into  a  haze 
of  indiscriminate  sunshine  by  the  light  of  her  own 
loving  heart. 

Our  indignation,  therefore,  during  the  period  of* 
our  lives  Avhich  followed  on  this  May-day  was 
almost  entirely  directed  against  Aunt  Dorothy. 

My  idol  remained  for  some  time  precisely  at  the 
due  idolatrous  distance,  enshrined  in  general  behind 
a  screen  of  sweet  mystery,  with  occasional  flashes 
of  beatific  vision ;  the  intervals  filled  up  with  ru- 
mours of  the  music,  and  breaths  of  the  incense  of 
the  inner  sanctuary,  enhanced  by  what  I  deemed  the 
unjust  murmurs  of  the  profane  outside. 

My  father  fulfilled  his  promise  of  taking  me  to  the 
Hall.  On  our  way  to  Lady  Lucy's  drawing-cham- 
ber I  caught  a  glimpse  through  a  half-open  door 
into  her  private  Chapel,  which  left  on  my  memory  a 
haze  and  a  fragrance  of  coloured  light  falling  on  the 
marble  pavements  through  ^yiudows  like  rubies  and 
eapphires,  of  golden  chalices  and  candelabras,  of 
aromatic  perfumes,  with  a  rise  and  fall  of  sweet 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  St 

chords  of  sacred  music,  all  blended  together  i;ito  a 
kind  of  sacred  spell,  like  the  church  bells  on  Sunday 
across  the  Mere.  The  Lady  Lucy  herself  was  em- 
bi'oidering  a  silken  church  vestment  with  gold  and 
crimson ;  skeins  of  glossy  silk  of  brilliant  colours 
lay  around  her,  which  thenceforth  invested  the  de- 
scriptions of  the  broidered  work  of  the  tabernacle 
for  me  with  a  new  interest.  She  received  my  father 
with  a  courtly  grace,  and  me  with  her  own  mother- 
ly sweetness.  She  made  me  sit  on  a  tabouret  at  her 
feet,  while  she  conversed  with  my  fixther,  and  gave 
me  a  French  ivory  puzzle  to  unravel.  But  I  could  do 
nothing  but  drink  in  the  soft  modulations  of  her 
voice  without  heeding  what  she  said,  except  that 
the  discourse  seemed  embroidered  with  the  names 
of  the  King  and  the  Queen,  and  the  Princes  and 
Princesses,  which  seemed  as  fit  for  her  lips  as  her 
rich  dress  was  for  her  person.  She  seemed  to  speak 
with  a  gentle  raillery,  reminding  him  of  old  times, 
and  asking  why  he  deserted  the  court.  But  his 
words  and  tones  were  very  grave.  Then,  as  he 
spoke  of  leaving,  she  unlocked  a  little  sandal-wood 
cabinet,  and  took  out  a  locket  containing  a  curl  of 
fair  hair,  and  she  said  softly,  "  This  was  Magda- 
lene's !  "  and  held  it  beside  mine.  And  then,  as  she 
carefully  laid  it  aside  again,  the  conversation  for  a 
few  moments  rose  to  higher  things,  and  a  Name 
higher  than  those  of  kings  and  queens  was  in  it.  And 
she  said  reverently, "  In  whatever  else  we  differ,  that 
good  part,  I  trust,  may  be  mine  and  yours  !  as  we 
knoAV  so  well  it  was  hers."  And  my  father  seemed 
moved,  took  leave,  and  said  nothing  more  until  wo 


64 


THE  DRAYTONS  AJSTD 


had  passed  through  the  outer  gate,  when  in  the 
avenue  Lettice  met  us,  cantering  on  a  white  palfrey, 
in  a  riding  coat  laced  with  red,  blue  and  yellow ; 
and  springing  off,  left  her  horse  to  go  whither  it 
would,  as  she  ran  to  welcome  me,  saying  a  thousand 
pretty,  kindly  things,  while  I,  in  a  shy  ecstasy, 
could  only  stand  and  hold  her  hand,  and  feel  as  if 
I  had  been  transported,  entirely  unprepared,  straight 
into  the  middle  of  a  fairy  tale. 

After  that  for  some  weeks  there  was  a  stream 
of  courtly  company  at  the  Hall,  and  Roger  and  I 
only  saw  Lettice  and  occasionally  the  Lady  Lucy  at 
church,  or  met  them  now  and  then  in  our  rides  and 
rambles  by  the  Mere  or  through  the  woods.  But 
whenever  we  did  meet  there  was  always  the  same 
eager  cordial  greeting  from  Lettice,  and  the  same 
affectionate  manner  in  her  mother.  And  from  time 
to  time  we  heard,  through  Tib's  sweetheart  Dickon, 
of  the  gracious  little  kindnesses  of  both  mother  and 
daughter,  of  their  thoughtful  care  for  tenant  and 
servant,  of  the  honour  in  which  they  were  held  by 
prince  and  peasant.  And  so  on  me  and  on  Roger 
the  spell  worked  on. 

The  Draytons  were  of  as  old  standing  in  the  par- 
ish as  the  Davenants.  Indeed,  if  tradition  and  our 
family  tree  spoke  true,  many  a  broad  acre  around 
Netherby  had  been  in  the  possession  of  our  ances- 
tors, maternal  or  paternal,  when  the  forefathers  of 
the  Davenants  had  been  holding  insignificant  fiefs 
under  Norman  dukes,  or  cruising  on  very  doubtful 
errands  about  the  northern  seas.  Our  pedigree 
dated  back  to  Saxon  times ;  the  porch  of  the  oldest 


THE  DAVEITANTS.  65 

transept  of  the  churcli  had,  to  Aunt  Dorothy's 
mingled  pride  and  horror,  an  inscription  on  it  re- 
questing prayers  for  the  soul  of  one  of  our  progeni- 
tors ;  and  the  oldest  tomb  in  the  church  was  ours. 
But  while  our  family  had  remained  stationary  in 
place  as  well  as  in  rank,  the  Davenants  had  climbed 
far  above  us.  Our  old  Manor  House  had  received 
no  additions  since  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  when  the 
third  gable  had  been  built  with  the  large  embayed 
window,  and  the  three  terraces  sloping  to  the  fish- 
pond and  the  orchards,  while  on  the  other  side  of 
the  court  extended,  as  of  old,  the  cattle-sheds  and 
stables.  Meantime,  the  old  Hall  of  the  Davenants 
had  been  degraded  into  farm-buildings,  whilst  a  new 
mansion,  with  sumptuous  banqueting  halls  and 
dainty  ladies'  withdrawing-chamber  like  a  palace, 
had  gradually  sprung  up  around  the  remains  of  the 
suppressed  Priory,  which  had  been  granted  to  the 
family ;  the  ancient  Priory  Church  serving  as  Lady 
Lucy's  private  chapel,  the  monks'  refectory  as  the 
family  dining-hall,  whilst  all  signs  of  farm  life  had 
vanished  out  of  sight,  and  scent,  and  hearing. 

During  the  same  period,  the  new  transept  of  our 
parish  church,  which  had  been  the  Davenants'  fam- 
ily chapel,  had  become  enriched  with  stately  monu- 
ments, where  the  effigies  of  knight  and  dame  rested 
under  decorated  canopies.  The  titles  and  armorial 
bearings  of  many  a  noble  family  were  mingled  with 
theirs  on  monumental  brass  and  stained  window ; 
whilst  the  plain  massive  architecture  of  our  heredit- 
ary portion  of  the  church  was  not  more  contrasted 
with  the  rich  and  delicate  carving  of  theirs  than 


66  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

were  we  and  our  servingmen  and  maidens,  in  our 
plain,  sad-colored  stuffs,  unplumed,  unadorned  hats, 
caps  or  coifs,  and  white  linen  kerchiefs,  with  the 
brocades,  satins,  and  velvets,  ostrich  feathers  and 
jewels,  ribboned  hosen  and  buckled  shoes  of  the 
Hall. 

The  contrast  had  gone  deejDer  than  mere  exter- 
nals, as  external  contrasts  mostly  do,  in  this  sym 
bolical  world.  In  the  Civil  "Wars,  when  no  politi- 
cal principle  was  involved,  it  had  chanced  that  the 
Draytons  and  the  Davenants  had  seldom  been  on 
the  same  side.  But  at  and  after  the  Reformation 
the  difference  manifested  itself  plainly  and  steadily. 

The  Davenants  had  recognized  Henry  VIH's 
supremacy  to  the  extent  of  receiving  from  him  a 
grant  of  the  lands  belonging  to  the  neighbouring 
abbey.  But  it  had  probably  cost  them  little  change 
of  belief  to  return  zealously  to  the  old  religion,  un- 
der the  rule  of  Queen  Mary ;  whereas  the  Draytons, 
adhering  with  Saxon  immobility  to  the  Papal  au- 
thority when  Henry  VIII.  discarded  it,  had  slowly 
come  round  to  the  conviction  of  the  truth  of  the  re- 
formed religion  by  the  time  it  became  dangerous ; 
and  we  hold  it  one  of  our  chief  family  distinctions 
that  we  have  a  name  closely  connected  with  us  en- 
rolled among  the  noble  army  in  "  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs."  Indeed,  throughout  their  history,  our 
family  had  an  unprosperous  propensity  to  the  dan- 
gerous side.  The  religious  convictions,  so  painfully 
adopted  and  so  dearly  proved,  had  throughout  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth  given  our  ancestors  a  leaning  to 
the  Puritan  side  :  deen  reliarious  conviction  bindinst 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  6/ 

them  from  generation  to  generation  to  the  noblest 
spirits  of  their  times,  whilst  a  certain  almost  per- 
verse honesty  and  inflexibility  of  temper  naturally 
drove  them  to  resist  any  kind  of  pressure  from  with- 
out, and  a  taste  for  what  is  solid  and  simple  rather 
than  for  what  is  elegant  and  gorgeouc,  whether  in 
life  or  in  ritual,  inclined  them  tc  the  simplest  forms 
of  ecclesiastical  ceremonial. 

It  was  this  strong  hereditary  Protestantism  which 
had  led  my  Father  to  join  the  religiouK  wars  in  Ger- 
many. He  held  King  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the 
Swede,  to  be  the  noblest  man  and  the  greatest  gen- 
eral of  ancient  or  modern  times.  And  he  held  that 
the  fearful  conflict  by  which  that  great  king  turned 
the  tide  against  the  Popish  arms  was  little  less  ttian 
a  conflict  between  truth  and  falsehood,  barbarism 
and  civilization,  light  and  darkness.  It  was  enough 
to  make  any  one  believe  in  the  necessity  of  hell,  he 
said,  to  have  seen,  as  he  had,  the  city  of  Magde- 
burg, ten  days  after  Tilly's  soldiers  had.  sacked  it, 
when  scarce  three  thousand  corpse-like  survivors 
crept  around  the  blackened  ruins  where  lay  buried 
the  mangled  remains  of  their  fourteen  thousand 
happier  dead.  To  see  that,  said  my  Father,  would 
make  any  one  understand  what  is  meant  by  the 
loraih  of  the  Lamb  ;  and  that  there  are  things  which 
can  make  a  gospel  of  vengeance  as  precioixs  to  just 
men  as  a  gospel  of  mercy.  And  some  foretaste  of 
that  merciful  vengeance,  he  said,  had  been  given 
already.  For  after  Magdeburg  it  was  said  Tilly 
never  won  a  battle.  My  Father  fought  with  the 
Swedish  army  till  the  death  of  the  king,  on  the  sixth 


58  THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 

of  November,  1632 ;  and  that  day  of  bis  victory  and 
deatb  at  Liitzen,  was  always  kept  in  our  bousebold 
as  a  day  of  family  mourning. 

Had  Elizabeth  been  on  the  throne,  my  Father 
used  to  say,  and  Cecil  at  the  helm  of  state,  it  would 
not  have  been  the  little  northern  kingdom  of  Sweden 
which  should  have  stemmed  the  torrent  of  Popish 
and  Imperial  tyranny,  while  England  stood  by 
wringing  h.elpless  womanich  hands,  beholding  her 
brethren  in  the  faith  tortured  and  slaughtei-ed,  her 
own  king's  daughter  exiled  and  dethroned,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  her  brave  soldiers  and  sailors  trifled 
to  inglorious  death  by  thousands  at  the  bidding  of 
a  musked  and  cuiled  court  favourite  at  Rhe  and 
Rochelle. 

It  was  in  Germany  that  my  Father  met  my  moth- 
er. She  was  a  Saxon  from  Luther's  own  town,  Wit- 
temberg.  Her  name  was  Reichenbach,  and  her 
family  retained  affectionate'  personal  memories  of 
the  great  Reformer,  as  well  as  an  enthusiastic  devo- 
tion to  his  doctrines.  She  and  Aunt  Gretel  (Mag- 
dalene and  Margarethe)  were  orphan  daughters  of 
an  officer  in  the  Protestant  armies.  And  I  often 
count  it  among  my  mercies  that  our  family  history 
linked  ixs  with  more  forms  of  our  religion  than  one, 
and  extended  our  horizon  beyond  the  sects  and  par- 
ties of  England.  Our  mother  died  two  years  after 
my  father's  return  to  England,  leaving  him  us  two 
children,  and  a  memory  of  a  love  as  devoted,  and  a 
piety  as  simple,  as  ever  lit  up  a  home  by  keeping  it 
open  to  heaven. 

It  was  during  these  vears  she  made  the  acquaint- 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  69 

ance  witli  Lady  Lucy.  They  had  been  very  closely 
attached,  although  political  differences,  and  the  long 
absences  of  the  Davenants  at  Court,  had  prevented 
much  intercourse  between  the  families  since  her 
death. 

Roger  recollected  her  face  and  voice  and  her 
foreign  accent,  and  one  or  two  things  she  said  to 
him.  I  remember  nothing  of  her  but  a  kind  of 
brooding  warmth  and  care,  tender  caressing  tones, 
and  being  watched  by  eyes  with  a  look  in  them  un- 
like any  other,  and  then  a  day  of  weeping  and  si- 
lence and  black  dresses  and  sad  faces,  and  a  wan- 
dering about  with  a  sense  of  something  lost.  Lost 
for  ever  out  of  my  life.  As  much  as  by  any  j)ossi- 
bility  could  be.  Aunt  Gretel  made  up  the  tender- 
ness, and  Aunt  Dorothy  the  discipline ;  and  my 
father  did  all  he  could  to  supply  her  place  by  a 
fatherly  care  softened  into  an  uncommon  passion  by 
his  sorrow,  and  deepened  into  the  most  sacred  prin- 
ciple by  his  desire  to  remedy  our  loss.  Yet,  in 
looking  back,  I  feel  more  and  more  we  did  indeed 
inevitably  lose  much.  All  these  balancing  and 
compensating  cares  and  affections  and  restraints 
from  every  side  yet  missed  something  of  the  tender 
constraints  and  the  heart-quickening  warmth  they 
would  have  had  all  living,  blended,  and  consecrated 
in  the  one  mother's  heart.  Yet  to  Roger,  perhaps, 
the  loss  was  at  various  points  in  his  life  even  great- 
er than  to  me. 

If  she  had  lived,  perchance  the  lessons  we  had  to 
learn  after  that  May  Day  w^ould  have  been  learned 
with  less  of  blundering  and  heat.  Yet  how  can  I 
6* 


yo  THE  DRAYTONS,  ETC. 

tell?  It  seems  to  me  the  true  painter  keeps  his 
pictures  in  harmony  not  by  mixing  the  colours  on 
the  palette,  but  by  blending  them  on  the  canvass, 
not  by  painting  in  leaden  monotonous  grays,  but  by 
interweaving  and  contrasting  countless  tints  of  pure 
and  varied  colour.  And  in  nature,  in  history,  in 
life,  it  seems  to  me  the  Creator  does  the  same. 

Yes,  God  forbid  that  in  lamenting  what  we  lost 
I  should  blaspheme  the  highest  love — the  love  which, 
as  Aunt  Gi-etel  says,  takes  every  image  of  human 
affection,  and  fills  and  ove:'"fills  it,  and  casts  it  away 
as  too  shallow ;  in  its  unutterable  intensity  putting 
as  it  Avere  a  tender  paradox  of  slander  on  even  a 
mother's  love  for  her  babes,  and  saying,  "  They  may 
forget,  yet  Avill  not  I," 

For  that  love,  we  believe,  gave  and  took  away, 
and  has  led  us  through  fasting  and  feasting,  dan- 
gers and  droughts,  Marahs  and  Elims,  chasteninga 
end  cberishings,  ever  since. 


Chapter  III. 


||T  length  the  time  arrived  when  my  dark 
ages  of  mystery  and  adoration  were  tc 
to  close.  The  pestilence  so  constantly 
hovering  over  the  wretched  wastes  of 
devastated  Germany  had  been  brought  to  Netherby 
by  a  cousin  of  my  mother's,  who  had  come  on  a 
visit  to  us.  He  fell  sick  the  day  after  his  arrival, 
and  died  on  the  third  day.  That  avening  Tib,  the 
dairywoman,  sickened,  and  before  the  next  morn- 
ing, Margery,  her  daughter.  A  panic  seized  the 
household.  My  father  accepted  Lady  Lucy's  gen 
erous  offer,  to  take  charge  of  Roger  and  me,  wo 
happening  to  have  been  from  the  first  secluded  from 
all  contact  with  the  sick.  Aunt  Dorothy  made  a 
faint  remonstrance.  There  were,  said  she,  conta- 
gions worse  than  any  plague.  K  her  brother  would 
answer  for  it,  to  his  conscience,  it  was  well.  She, 
at  least,  would  wash  her  hands  of  the  whole  thing. 
But  my  father  had  no  scruples.  "  He  only  hoped,'* 
he  said,  "  that  Lady  Lucy  might  touch  us  with  the 
infection  of  her  gracious  kindliness ;    Olive  would 

(71) 


^^ 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


be  only  with  her,  and  as  to  Roger  and  the  rest  of 
the  household,  if  he  was  ever  to  be  a  true  Protest- 
ant, the  time  must  come  when  he  must  learn,  if 
necessary",  to  protest." 

So  much  to  Aunt  Dorothy.  To  Roger  himself, 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  we  were  riding  off,  with 
his  hand  on  the  horse's  mane, — 

"  Remember,  my  lad,  there  is  no  true  manliness 
without  godliness." 

Aunt  Gretel  watched  and  waved  her  hand  to  us 
from  the  infected  chamber  window  where  she  sat 
nursing  Margery  ;  and  when  I  opened  my  bundle  of 
clothes  that  evening,  I  found  in  the  corner  a  little 
book  containing  my  mother's  favorite  psalms  copied 
in  English  for  us,  the  46th  (Dr.  Luther's  own  psalm), 
the  23d,  and  the  139th. 

Thus  armed,  Roger  and  I  sallied  forth  into  our 
enchanted  castle. 

To  be  disenchanted.  ISTot  to  be  repelled,  but 
certainly  to  be  disenchanted.  Not  by  any  subtle 
spell  of  counter-magic,  or  rude  shock  of  bitter  dis- 
covery, but  by  the  slow  changing  of  the  world  of 
misty  twilight  splendours,  of  dreams  and  visions, 
guesses  and  rumours,  into  a  world  of  daylight,  of 
Bight  and  touch. 

My  first  disenchantment  was  the  Lady  Lucy's 
artificial  curls.  She  allowed  me  to  remain  with  her 
while  her  gentlewoman  disrobed  her  that  evening. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  dismay  with  which  I  beheld 
one  dainty  ringlet  after  another,  of  the  kind  called 
"  heart-breakers,"  disentangled  from  among  her 
hair — itself  still  brown  and  abundant — and  laid  on 


THE  DA  VEN-ANTS. 


7S 


tlie  dressing-table.  The  perfumes,  essences,  pow- 
ders, oiutmeiits,  salves,  balsams,  crystal  phials,  and 
porcolaiu  cups,  amoug  which  these  "  heart-break- 
ers" were  laid,  (mysterious  and  strange  as  they 
were  to  me  who  knew  of  no  cosmetics  but  cold 
water  and  fresh  air,)  seemed  to  me  only  so  many 
appro23riate  decorations  of  the  shrine  of  my  idol. 
But  the  hair  was  false,  and  perplexed  me  sorely, 
Puritan  child  that  I  was,  brought  up  with  no  habits 
of  subtle  discernment  between  a  deception  and 
a  lie. 

The  next  morning  brought  me  yet  greater  per- 
plexity, I  slept  in  a  light  closet  in  a  turret  off  the 
Lady  Lucy's  chamber.  The  Lady  Lucy's  own  gen- 
tlewoman came  in  to  dress  me,  but  before  she  ap- 
peared I  was  already  arrayed,  and  was  kneeling  at 
the  window-seat  of  my  little  arched  window,  read- 
ing my  mother's  psalms. 

I  thought  she  came  to  call  mc  to  prayers,  with 
which  we  always  began  the  day  at  home ;  my  father 
reading  a  psalm  at  daybreak  and  offering  a  short 
solemn  prayer  in  the  Hall,  where  all  the  men  and 
maidens  were  gathered,  after  which  we  sat  down  at 
one  table  to  breakfast  as  the  family  had  done  since 
the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  But  when  I  asked 
her  if  she  came  for  this,  she  smiled,  and  said  it  was 
not  a  saint's  day,  so  that  it  was  not  likely  the  whole 
household  would  assemble,  though  no  doubt  my 
Lady  and  Mistress  Lettice  would  attend  service 
with  the  chaplain  in  the  cliapel.  But  she  said  I 
might  attend  Lady  Lucy  in  her  chamber  before  she 
rose.  I  gladly  accepted,  and  Lady  Lucy  invited 
1 


74 


THE  D12A  YTONS  AND 


me  to  partake  of  a  new  kind  of  confection  called 
chocolate,  brought  from  the  Indies  by  the  Si^aniards, 
which  finding  I  could  not  relisli,  she  sent  for  a  cup 
of  new  milk  and  a  manchet  of  fine  milk-bread  on 
which  I  breakfasted.  Then  she  began  her  dressing  ; 
and  then  ensued  my  second  stage  of  disenchantment. 
Out  of  the  many  crystal  and  porcelain  vases  on  the 
tab'le,  her  gentlewoman  took  powders  and  jiaints, 
and  to  my  unutterable  amazement  actually  began 
to  tint  with  rose-colour  Lady  Lucy's  cheeks,  and  to 
lay  a  delicate  ivory-white  on  her  brow.  She  made 
no  mystery  of  it ;  but  I  suppose  she  saw  the  horror 
in  my  eyes,  for  she  laughed  and  said, — 

"  You  are  watching  me  little  Olive,  with  great 
eyes,  as  if  I  were  Red  Riding  Hood's  wolf-grand- 
mother.    What  is  the  matter  ?" 

I  could  not  answer,  but  I  felt  myself  flush  crim- 
son, and  I  remember  that  the  only  word  that  seem- 
ed as  if  it  could  come  to  my  lips,  was  "  Jezebel."  I 
quite  hated  myself  for  the  thought ;  the  Lady  Lucy 
was  so  tender  and  good  !  Yet  all  the  day,  tlirough 
the  service  in  the  chapel,  and  my  plays  with  Lettice, 
and  my  quiet  sitting  on  my  favorite  footstool  at 
Lady  Lucy's  feet,  those  terrible  words  haunted  me 
like  a  bad  dream  :  "  and  she  painted  her  face  and 
tired  her  head  and  looked  out  at  a  window."  A 
thousand  times  I  drove  them  away.  I  repeated  to 
myself  how  she  loved  my  mother,  how  my  father 
honored  her,  how  gracious  and  tender  she  was  to 
me  and  to  all.  Still  the  words  came  back,  with  the 
visions  of  the  false  curls,  and  the  paint,  and  the 
powder.     And  I  cou1 1    have   cried  with  vexation 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


75 


that  I  had  ever  seen  these.  For  I  felt  sure  Lady 
Lucy  was  inwardly  as  sweet  and  true  as  I  had  be- 
lieved, and  that  these  were  only  little  court  cus- 
toms quite  foreign  to  her  nature,  to  which  she  as  a 
great  lady  had  to  submit,  but  w^hich  no  more  made 
her  heart  bad  tlian  the  washed  liands  and  jilatters 
made  the  Pharisees  good.  Yet  the  serene  and  per- 
fect image  was  broken,  and  do  what  I  Avould  I  could 
not  restore  it. 

My  third  disenchantment  was  more  serious. 

At  the  ringing  of  the  great  tower  bell  for  dinner, 
summoning  the  household  and  inviting  all  within 
hearing  to  share  the  hospitality  of  the  Hall,  a  caval- 
cade swept  up  the  avenue,  consisting  of  the  fxmily 
of  a  neighbouring  country  gentleman.  Lady  Lvicy 
who  was  seated  at  her  embroidery  frame  in  the 
drawing-chamber,  was  evidently  not  pleased  at  this 
announcement.  "  They  always  stay  till  dark,"  she 
said,  "  and  question  me  till  I  am  wearied  to  death, 
about  what  the  queen  wears,  what  the  princesses 
eat,  or  hov/  the  king  talks,  as  if  their  majesties 
were  some  strange  foreign  beasts,  and  I  some  Moor- 
ish showman  hired  to  exhibit  them.  Lettice,  my 
sweet,  take  them  into  the  garden  after  dinner,  or  I 
shall  not  recover  it." 

Yet  when  the  ladies  entered  she  received  them 
witli  a  manner  as  gracilis  as  if  they  had  been  anx- 
iously expected  friends.  I  reasoned  with  myself 
that  this  graciousness  was  an  inalienable  quality  of 
.hers,  as  little  voluntary  or  conscious  as  tbe  soft 
tones  of  her  voice ;  or  that  probably  she  repented 
of  having  spoken  hastily  of  her  visitors  and  com- 


76  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

pensated  for  it  by  being  more  than  ordinarily  kind. 
But  when  it  proved  that  they  had  to  leave  early, 
and  she  lamented  over  the  shortness  of  the  visit, 
and  yet  immediately  after  their  departure  threw 
herself  languidly  on  a  couch,  and  sighed,  "  What  a 
deliverance !"  I  involuntarily  shrank  from  her  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  and  watching  the 
departing  strangers,  wished  myself  departing  with 
them. 

I  stood  there  long,  until  she  came  gently  to  me 
and  laid  her  hand  kindly  on  my  head.  I  looked  up 
at  her,  and  longed  to  look  straight  into  her  heart. 

"  Tears  on  the  long  lashes !  "  said  she,  caressingly. 
"  What  is  the  m^atter,  little  one  ?  " 

My  eyelids  sank  anc*.  the  tears  fell. 

"  What  ails  thee,  little  silent  woman  ?  "  said  she, 
stooping  to  me. 

I  threw  my  arms  around  her  and  sobbed,  "  You 
are  really  glad  to  have  me.  Lady  Lucy ;  are  you  not  ? 
You  would  not  like  me  to  go  ?" 

She  seemed  at  first  perplexed. 

"  You  take  things  too  much  to  heart,  Olive,  like 
your  poor  mother,"  she  said  at  last,  very  gently. 
"  Those  ladies  are  nothing  to  me ;  and  your  mother 
was  dear  to  me,  Olive,  and  so  are  you." 

But  in  the  evening  when  I  was  in  bed  she  came 
herself  into  my  little  chamber,  and  sat  by  my  bed- 
side, like  Aunt  Gretel,  and  played  with  my  long 
hair  in  her  sweet  way ;  and  then  before  she  left, 
said  tenderly, — 

"  My  poor  little  Olive,  you  must  not  doubt  your 
mother's  old  friend.     I  am  not  all,  or  half  I  would 


THE  DAVENANT8. 


77 


be,  but  I  could  not  oear  to  be  distrusted  by  you. 
But  you  have  lived  too  much  shut  up  in  a  world  of 
your  own.  You  wear  your  heart  too  near  the  sur- 
face. You  bring  heart  and  conscience  into  things 
which  only  need  courtesy  and  tactics.  You  waste 
your  gold  where  beads  and  copper  are  as  valuable. 
I  must  be  courteous  to  my  enemies,  little  one,  and 
gracious  to  people  who  weary  me  to  death ;  but  to 
you  I  give  a  bit  of  my  heart,  and  that  is  quite  a 
different  thing." 

And  she  left  me  reassured  of  her  affection,  but 
not  a  little  perplexed  by  this  double  code  of 
morals.  That  one  region  of  Kfe  should  be  governed 
by  the  rules  of  right  and  wrong,  and  another  by 
those  of  politeness,  was  altogether  a  strange  thing 
to  me. 

Meantime  Lettice  and  I  were  rapidly  advancing 
from  the  outer  court  of  courtesies  into  the  inner  one 
of  childish  friendship,  spiced  with  occasional  sharp 
debates,  and  very  undisguised  honesties  towards 
each  other;  as  Lettice  and  her  brothers  initiated 
me  and  Roger  into  the  various  plays  and  games  in 
which  they  were  so  much  superior  to  us,  and  we  be- 
came eager  on  both  sides  for  victory.  A  very  new 
world  this  play-world  was  to  lis,  who  had  known 
scarcely  any  toys  but  such  as  Ave  made  for  ourselves, 
and  no  amusements  but  such  as  we  had  planned  for 
ourselves. 

Very  charming  it  was  to  us  at  first,  the  billiaivl- 
table,  the  tennis-court,  or  pall-mall ;  and  great  de- 
light Roger  took  in  learning  to  vault  and  throw  the 
dart  on  horseback,  to  wheel  and  curvet,  or  jnck  up 


78  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

a  lady's  glove  at  full  speed,  and  in  the  various 
courtly  exercises  and  feats,  Spanish,  French,  or 
Arabian,  which  the  young  Davenants  had  learned 
from  their  riding-master.  Naturally  agile,  he  had 
been  train<.'dto  thorough  command  of  his  horse,  by 
following  my  Father  through  flood  and  fen,  Avhile  his 
eye  had  learned  qnickness  and  accuracy  from  hunt- 
ing the  wild  fowl,  and  tracking  hares  and  foxes 
through  the  wild  country  around  ns,  and  these  ac- 
complishments came  easily  enough  to  him.  Yet 
with  all  these  ingenious  arrangements  for  passing 
the  time,  it  seemed  to  hang  more  heavily  on  hand 
at  the  Hall  than  at  iNl'ctherby;  it  came,  indeed,  to 
Roger  and  me  as  something  completely  new  that 
any  arrangements  should  be  needed  to  make  the 
time  pass  quickly.  What  with  spinning,  and  sew- 
ing, and  my  helping  my  Aunts,  and  his  learning 
Greek,  and  Latin,  and  Italian  of  my  Father,  and 
helping  him  about  the  firm,  our  holiday  hours  had 
always  seemed  too  brief  for  half  the  things  we  had 
to  do  in  them.  Every  morning  found  an  eager 
welcome  from  us,  and  every  evening  a  reluctant 
farewell ;  and  it  was  not  until  we  spent  those  days 
at  the  Hall  that  the  question,  "  What  are  we  to  do 
next  ?  "  ever  occuiTcd  to  us,  not  in  hesitation  which 
to  select  of  the  countless  things  we  had  to  do  in  our 
precious  spare  hours,  but  as  an  ajjpeal  for  some  new 
excitement. 

Moreover,  while  in  outward  accomplishments  and 
graces  we  felt  our  inferiority,  in  many  things  we 
could  not  but  feel  that  our  education  had  been  far 
more  extensive  than  that  of  the  Davenants. 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS. 


n 


Allusions  to  Greek  and  Koman  history,  and  to 
miw  discoveries  in  art  and  science,  and  even  to« 
stories  of  modern  European  wars,  which  Avere  as 
natural  to  us  as  household  words,  were  plainly  an 
unknown  tongue  to  them.  Even  on  the  lute  and 
the  harpsichord,  Lettice's  instructions  had  fallen 
short  of  those  my  father  had  procured  for  me, 
although  her  sweet  clear  voice,  and  her  graceful 
way  of  doing  everything,  made  all  she  did  seem 
done  better  than  any  one  else  could  have  done  it. 

The  brothers,  for  the  most  part,  laughed  off  their 
deliciencics,  and  often  made  them  seem  for  the  mo- 
ment a  kind  of  gentlemanlike  distinction,  bantering 
Roo-er  as  if  learnino:  were  but  a  little  better  kind  of 
servile  labour,  beneath  the  attention  of  any  but 
those  who  had  to  earn  their  broad.  All  that  kind 
of  thing,  they  said,  was  going  out  of  tlie  mode. 
The  late  King  James  had  tired  the  court  out  with 
overmuch  pedantry  and  learning ;  the  present  king 
indeed  was  a  grave  and  accomplished  gentleman, 
but  mtriier  days  would  come  in  with  the  French 
queen's  court  and  the  young  princes,  when  the  "  gay 
science  "  would  be  the  only  one  much  worth  culti- 
vating by  men  of  condition.  JNIeantime  the  elder 
brothers  paid  me  many  choice  and  graceful  compli- 
ments on  ray  hands  and  my  hair,  my  eyes  and  my 
eye-lashes,  my  learning  and  my  accomplishments, 
jesting  now  and  then  in  a  courtly  way  on  my  sober 
attire ;  and,  child  that  I  was,  sent  me  looking  with 
much  interest  and  wonder  at  myself  in  the  long 
glass  in  Lady  Lucy's  drawing-chamber,  to  see  if 
what  they  said  was  true.     I  remember,  one  after- 


go  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

noon,  after  a  long  survey  of  myself,  I  coi  .eluded 
that  much  of  it  was,  and  thanked  God  that  evening 
for  having  made  me  pleasant  to  look  at.  A  few 
years  later,  the  danger  would  have  been  diflerent. 

But  Lettice  was  of  a  diiferent  nature  fi-om  all  her 
hrothei-s  except  one.     Generously  alive  to  whatever 
was  to  be  loved  or  admired  in  others,  and  ready  to 
depreciate  herself,  she   wanted  Roger  and  me  to 
teach  her  all  we  knew.     She  made  him  hunt  out  the 
hooks  which  would  instruct  her  in  Sir  Walter^s  neg- 
lected library.     She  sat  patiently  three  sunny  morn- 
ino-s  trying  to  learn  from  Roger  the  Italian  gram- 
mar, which  she  had  pleaded  hard  he  should  teach 
her,  she  made  him  read  the  poetry  to  her,  and  said 
it  was  sweeter  than  her  mother*s  lute.     But  on  the 
fourth  morning  her  patience  was  exhausted  j — she 
declared  it  was  a  wicked  prodigality  to  waste  the 
sunny  hours  in-doors,  and  danced  us  away  to  the 
woods ;  and   all  Roger's  remonstrances   could  not 
brino-  her  back  to  such  unwonted   work.     Indeed 
the  more  he  remonstrated,  the  more  idle  and  indiff- 
erent she  chose  to  be,  insisting  instead  on  showing 
him  some  new  French  dance  or  singing  him  some 
snatch  of  French  song  she  had   learned  from  the 
Queen's  ladies,  until  he  gave  up  in  despair  •  when  she 
declared  that  but  for  his  want  of  patience  she  had 
been  fairly  on  the  way  to  become  a  feminine  Solomon. 

It  was  Monday  when  our  visit  commenced,  so, 
that  we  were  no  longer  strangers  in  the  house  by 
the  following  Sunday.  But  we  were  not  prepared 
for  the  contrast  between  the  Sundays  at  Davenant 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  %  g 

Hall  with  those  at  Netherby.  At  our  own  horu': 
grave  as  the  day  was,  there  was  always  a  quiet  fea 
tival  air  about  it.  The  hall  was  fresh  swept,  and 
strewn  with  clean  sand.  My  Father  and  my  Aunts, 
the  maids  and  men,  had  on  their  holiday  dresses. 
That  morning  at  prayers  we  always  had  a  psalm, 
and  the  mere  thrill  of  my  voice  against  my  Father's 
rich  deep  tones  was  a  pleasure  to  me.  Then  after 
breakfast  Roger  and  I  had  a  walk  in  the  fields  with 
him,  and  he  made  us  hear,  and  see  a  hundred  things 
in  the  ways  of  birds  and  beasts  and  insects  that  we 
should  never  have  known  without  him.  One  day 
it  was  the  little  brown  and  white  harvest-mouse, 
which,  by  cautiously  approaching  it,  we  saw  climb- 
ing by  the  help  of  its  tail  and  claws  to  its  little 
round  nest  woven  of  grass  suspended  from  a  corn- 
stalk. Another  day  it  was  a  squirrel,  with  its  sum- 
mer house  hung  to  the  branch  of  a  tree  with  its 
nursery  of  little  squirrels;  and  its  warm  winter 
house,  lined  with  hay,  in  the  fork  of  an  old  trunk ; 
or  a  colony  of  ants  roofing  their  dwellings  in  the 
wood  with  dry  leaves  and  twigs.  Or  he  would  turn 
it  into  a  parable  and  show  us  how  every  creature 
has  its  enemies,  and  must  live  on  the  defensive  or 
not  live  at  all.  Or  he  would  watch  with  us  the 
butterfly  struggling  from  the  chrysalis,  or  the  dra- 
gon-fly soaring  from  its  first  life  in  the  reedy  creeks 
of  the  Mere  to  the  new  life  of  freedom  in  the  sun- 
shine. Or  he  would  point  out  to  us  how  the  field- 
spider  had  anticipated  military  science;  how  she 
threw  up  her  bulwarks  and  strengthened  every 
weak  point  by  her  fairy  buttresses,  and  kept  up  tlie 


82  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

comniunication  between  the  citadel  and  the  remotest 
outwork.  Or  he  would  teach  us  to  distinguish  the 
various  songs  of  the  birds,  the  throstles,  the  chaf- 
finches, the  blackbirds,  or  the  nightingales.  God, 
he  said,  had  filled  the  woods  with  throngs  of  sacred 
carollers,  and  melodious  troubadours,  and  merry- 
minstrels;  some  with  one  sweet  monotonous  ca- 
dence, one  bell-like  note,  one  haj^py  little  "  peep  " 
or  chirp,  and  no  more,  and  others  overflowing  with 
a  passion  of  intricate  and  endlessly  varied  song ; 
and  it  was  a  churlish  return  for  such  a  concert  not 
to  give  heed  enough  to  learn  one  song  from  another. 
Or,  together,  we  would  watch  the  rooks  in  the  great 
elm  grove  behind  the  house,  how  strict  their  laws  of 
property  were,  the  old  birds  claiming  the  same 
nest  every  year,  and  the  young  ones  having  to  con- 
struct new  ones.  Or  he  would  tell  us  of  the  differ- 
ent forms  of  government  among  the  various  crea- 
tures ;  how  the  bees  had  an  hereditary  monarchy, 
yet  owned  no  aristocracy  but  that  of  labour,  killing 
their  drones  -before  winter,  that  if  any  would  not 
work  neither  should  he  eat ;  and  how  the  rooks  held 
parliaments.  Everywhere  he  made  us  see,  Avonder- 
fully  blended  and  balanced,  fixed  order,  with  free 
spontaneous  action  ;  freaks  of  sportive  merriment, 
free  as  the  Avildest  play  of  childhood,  with  a  fixed- 
ness of  law  more  exact  than  the  nicest  calculations 
of  the  mathematicians ;  "  service  which  is  perfect 
freedom ;  "  delicate  beauty  with  homely  utility ; 
lavish  abundance  with  provident  care.  And  every- 
where he  made  us  feel  that  the  spring  of  all  this 
order,    the    source   of  all  this    fidlness,  the    smilo 


THE  DA  VEXANTS.  •  83 

throiigli  all  tins  humour  and  play  of  nature,  the  soul 
of  all  this  law,  was  none  other  than  God.  So  that 
often  after  these  morning  walks  with  him  we  fell 
into  an  awed  silence,  feeling  the  warm  daylight 
solemn  as  a  starry  midnight,  with  the  Great  Pre*^ 
enee ;  and  entered  the  church-porch  almost  with 
the  feeling  that  we  were  rather  stepping  out  of 
the  Temple  than  into  it ;  that,  sacred  as  was  the 
place  of  worship  and  of  the  dead,  it  was  not  more 
sacred  or  awful  than  the  world  of  life  we  left  to 
enter  it. 

'  The  other  golden  hour  of  our  golden  day  (for 
Sunday  was  ever  that  to  us),  was  when  in  the  even- 
ing; he  read  the  Bible  with  Roger  and  me  in  his 
own  room.  I  cannot  remember  much  that  he  used 
to  say  about  it.  I  only  remember  how  he  made  us 
reverence  and  love  it ;  its  fragments  of  biography 
which  make  you  know  the  people  better  than  vol 
umes  of  narrative  ;  its  characters  that  are  never  mere 
incarnations  of  principles,  but  men  and  women ;  its 
letters  that  are  never  mere  sermons  concentrated  on 
an  individual ;  its  sermons  that  are  never  mere  dis- 
sertations peculiarly  applicable  to  no  one  time  or 
place,  but  speeches  intensely  directed  to  the  needs  of 
one  audience,  and  the  circumstances  of  one  place,  and 
therefore  containing  guiding  wisdom  for  all;  its 
prayers  that  are  never  sermons  from  a  pulpit,  but 
brief  cries  of  entreaty  from  the  dust  or  flaming  tor- 
rents of  adoration  piercing  beyond  the  stars,  or 
quiet  asking  of  little  children  for  daily  bread ;  its 
confessions  that  are  as  great  drops  of  blood  wrung 
slowly  from  the  agony  of  the  heart;  its  hymns  that 


84 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


dart  upward  singing  and  soaring  in  a  wild  passion 
of  praise  and  Joy. 

I  can  recall  little  of  what  my  fatlici-  said  to  us  in 
those  evening  hours,,  but  I  remember  that  they  left 
on  our  minds  the  same  kind  of  joyous  sense  of  hav- 
ing: found  soraethinjT  inexhaustible  which  earae  from 
our  morning  walks.  They  made  us  feel  that  in  com- 
ing to  the  Bible,  as  to  nature,  we  come  not  to  a  cis- 
tern or  a  stream  or  a  ponded  store,  though  it  might 
be  abundant  enough  for  a  nation ;  but  to  a  Foun- 
tain, which,  though  it  might  seem  at  times  but  a 
gentle  bubbling  up  of  waters  just  enough  for  the' 
thirsty  lips  which  pressed  it,  was,  nevertheless, 
living,  inexhaustible,  eternal,  because  it  Avelled  up 
from  the  fullness  of  God. 

The  usual  name  for  the  Sabbath  in  our  home  was 
the  Lord's  Day,  because  of  our  Lord's  Resurrection. 
On  other  days  my  Father  read  to  us,  and  made  us 
read  and  love  other  books — ^books  of  history  and 
science  as  well  as  of  religion,  Shakespeare,  Spenser, 
the  early  poems  of  Mr.  John  Milton,  and,  when  we 
could  understand  them,  the  Italian  jDoet  Dante,  or 
Davila,  and  other  great  Italians  who  spoke  nobly 
of  order  and  liberty. 

Bui  on  this  day  of  God  he  never  read  but  from 
these  two  divine  books,  Nature  and  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures. 

In  church  we  had  not  always  any  sermon  at  all. 
Preaching  had  not  been  much  encouraged  since  the 
days  of  Qneen  Elizabeth.  Occasionally  one  of  the 
lecturers,  or  gospel  preachers,  whom  Mr.  Cromwell 
and  other  good  men  were  so  anxious  to  supply  at 


THE  DA  TENANTS,  S^ 

their  own  cost,  used,  in  our  earlier  tiays,  to  enter 
our  pulpit  and  arouse  ns  children  with  bursts  of 
earnest  warning  or  entreaty  (our  parish  minister 
then  being  a  meek  and  conformable  person).  But 
Archbishop  Laud  soon  put  a  stop  to  tfiis,  and  sent 
us  a  clergyman  of  his  own  type,  who  fretted  Aunt 
Dorothy  by  changing  the  places  and  colours  of 
tilings,  moving  the  communion-table  from  the  mid- 
dle of  the  church,  where  it  had  stood  since  the  Ref- 
ormation, to  the  East  End,  wearing  white  where  we 
were  used  to  black,  and  coats  of  many  colours 
where  we  were  used  to  white,  and  in  general  mov- 
ing about  the  church  in  what  appeared  to  us  Puri- 
tan children,  uninstructed  in  symbolism,  a  restless 
and  unaccountable  manner  ;  standing  when  we  had 
been  wont  to  sit,  kneeling  when  we  had  been  wont  to 
stand,  making  little  unexpected  bows  in  one  direc- 
tion and  little  inexplicable  turns  in  another,  in  a 
way  which  provided  matter  of  lively  speculation  to 
Roger  and  me  during  the  week,  since  we  never 
knew  what  new  movement  might  be  executed  on 
the  following  Sunday.  But  to  Aunt  Dorothy  these 
innovations  were  profanities,  which  would  have 
been  utterly  intolerable  had  she  not  consoled  her- 
self by  regarding  them  as  signs  of  the  end  of  all 
things.  For  what  to  Mr.  Nicholls,  the  parson,  was 
the  "  beauty  of  holiness,"  and  to  our  father  "  per- 
sonal peculiarities  of  Mr.  Nicholls,"  and  to  Aunt 
Gretel  but  one  more  of  our  "  incomprehensible  Eng- 
lish customs,"  were  to  Aunt  Dorothy  the  infernal 
insignia  of  the  "  Mother  of  abominations." 

She  therefore  remained  resolutely  and  rigidly  sit- 


R6  THE  DRAYTOXS  AND 

ting  aiid  standing  as  she  Lad  been  wont,  a  target 
for  fiery  darts  from  Mr.  Niobolls'  eyes,  and  a  sore 
perplexity  to  Aunt  Gretel,  who,  never  having  mas- 
tered our  Anglican  rubric,  had  hitherto  had  no  cer- 
emonial rule,  but  to  do  Vvdiat  those  around  her  did, 
and  was  thus  thrown  into  inextricable  difficulties 
between  the  silent  reproaches  of  Aunt  Dorothy's 
compressed  lips  if  she  did  one  thing,  and  the  sus- 
picious glances  of  the  Parson's  eyes  if  she  did 
another. 

On  our  return  Aunt  Dorothy  frequently  made  us 
repeat  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  chapters  of  the 
Kevelation.  We  understood  that  she  regarded  both 
these  chapters  as  in  some  way  directed  against  Mr. 
Njcholls.  In  what  way — we  discussed  it  often — 
Roger  and  I  at  that  time  could  never  make  out. 
The  great  wicked  city,  with  ships,  and  merchants, 
and  traders,  and  pipers,  and  harpers,  seemed  to  us 
more  like  London  town,  v.dth  tiie  Court  of  the  King, 
than  like  the  parish  church  at  Netherby.  However 
that  may  be,  I  am  thankful  for  having  learned  those 
chapters.  Many  and  many  a  time,  Avhen  in  after 
life  tlie  world  has  tempted  me  with  its  splendours, 
or  straitened  me  with  its  cares,  and  I  have  been  as- 
sailed with  the  Psalmist's  old  temptation  at  seeing 
the  wicked  in  great  prosperity,  the  grand  wail  over 
the  doomed  city  has  pealed  like  a  triumphal  march 
through  my  soul,  and  the  whole  gaudy  pomp  and 
glory  of  the  world  has  lain  beneath  me  in  the  power 
of  that  solemn  dirge,  like  the  tinsel  decorations  of  a 
theatre  in  the  sunbeams,  whilst  above  me  has  arisen, 
enow- white  and  majestic,  the  vision  of  the  Bride  in 


THE  DAVENANTS.  87 

her  fine  linen  "  clean  and  white,"  —of  the  City 
coming  down  from  heaven  "  having  the  glory  of 
God." 

Aunt  Gretel,  on  the  other  hand,  would  frequently 
quiet  her  ruffled  spirits  after  her  perplexities,  by 
making  Roger  and  me  read  to  her  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  the  Romans,  ending  with,  "We  then 
that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  Avith  the  ir.£riuiiies 
of  the  weak.  Let  every  one  of  us  please  his  neigh- 
bour for  his  good  to  edification.  For  even  Christ 
pleased  not  Himself." — A  rubric  which  secretly 
seemed  to  us  to  have  two  edges,  one  for  Aimt 
Dorothy  and  one  for  Mr.  Nicholls,  but  of  which 
Aunt  Gretel  contrived  to  turn  both  on  herself 

"  You  see,  my  dears,"  she  would  say,  "  that  is  a 
rule  of  which  I  am  naturally  very  fond.  Because, 
of  course,  I  am  one  of  the  weak.  And  it  certainly 
would  be  a  relief  to  me  if  those  who  are  strong 
would  have  a  little  more  patience  with  me.  But 
then  it  is  a  comfort  to  think  that  He  who  is  strong- 
er than  all  does  bear  with  me.  For  He  knows  I  do 
not  wish  to  please  myself,  and  would  be  thankful 
indeed  if  I  could  tell  how  to  please  my  neighbours." 
Which  seemed  to  us  like  the  weak  bearing  the  in- 
firmities of  the  strong. 

After  this  learning  and  repeating  our  chapters 
from  the  Bible,  while  my  Father  and  my  Aunts  were 
going  about  the  cottages  and  villages  near  us  on 
various  errands  of  mercy,  Roger  and  I  had  a  free 
hour  or  two,  during  which  we  commonly  resorted 
in  summer  to  our  perch  on  the  apple-tree,  and  in 
winter  to  the  chamber  over  the  porch  where  the 


88  THE  D  RA  YTONS  AND 

dried  herbs  were  kept,  where  we  held  our  weekly 
convocation  as  to  all  matters  that  carae  under  our 
cognizance,  domestic,  personal,  ecclesiastical,  or  po- 
litical. Placidia  was  not  excluded,  hut  being  four 
years  older,  she  preferred  "  her  book"  and  the  soci- 
ety of  our  Aunts.  Then  came  the  sacred  liour  with 
■'I'.r  Father  in  his  own  chamber.  Afterwards  in  win- 
ter, we  often  gathered  round  the  fire  in  the  great 
hall,  we  in  the  chimney-nook,  and  the  men  and 
maidens  in  an  outer  circle,  Avhile  my  Father  told 
stories  of  the  sufferings  of  holy  men  and  women  for 
conscience'  sake,  or  while  Dr.  Antony  (when  he  was 
visiting  us)  nai-rated  to  us  his  inteiwiews  with  those 
who  were  languishing  for  truth  or  for  liberty  in  va- 
rious prisons  throughout  the  realm. 

And  so  the  night  came,  always,  it  seemed  to  us, 
sooner  than  on  any  other  day.  Although  never  un- 
til our  visit  at  Davenant  Hall  did  I  understand  the 
unspeakable  blessing  of  that  weekly  closing  of  the 
doors  on  Time,  and  opening  all  the  windows  of  the 
soul  towards  Eternity ;  the  unspeakable  lowering 
and  narrowing  of  the  whole  being  which  follows  on 
its  neglect  and  loss.  To  us  the  Lord's  Day  was  a 
day  of  Paradise  ;  but  I  believe  the  barest  Sabbath 
which  was  ever  fenced  round  with  prohibitions  by 
the  most  rigid  Puritanism,  looking  rather  to  the 
fence  than  the  enclosure,  rather  to  what  is  shut  out 
than  to  what  is  cultivated  within,  is  a  boon  and  a 
blessing  compared  with  the  life  without  pauses, 
without  any  consecrated  house  for  the  soul  built  out 
of  Time,  without  silences  wherein  to  listen  to  the 
Voice  tha/  is  heard  best  in  silence. 


THE  DAVENANTB.  gg 

It  was  a  point  of  honor  and  a  badge  of  loyalty 
with  many  of  the  Cavaliers  to  protest  against  the 
Puritan  observance  of  the  Sabbath.  The  Lady 
Lucy,  indeed,  welcomed  the  sacred  day,  as  she  did 
everything  else  that  was  sacred  and  heavenly.  She 
sang  to  her  lute  a  lovely  song  in  praise  of  the  day 
from  the  new  "Divine  Poems"  of  Mr.  George  Her- 
bert, and  told  me  how  he  had  sung  it  to  his  lute  on 
his  death-bed  only  a  few  years  befoi'i?,  in  1632. 

"  On  Sunday  heaven's  gates  stand  ope," 

she  sang ;  and  I  am  sure  they  stood  ever  open  to 
her. 

But  the  rest  of  the  fiimily,  whilst  reverencing  her 
devout  and  chaiitable  life,  seemed  to  have  no  more 
thought  of  following  it  than  if  she  had  been  a  nun  in 
a  convent.  Indeed,  in  a  sense,  she  did  dwell  apart, 
cloistered  in  a  hallowed  atmosphere  of  her  own. 

Her  husband  and  her  sons  requested  her  prayers 
when  they  went  on  any  expedition  of  danger,  as 
their  ancestors  must  have  sought  for  the  interces- 
sions of  priest  or  canonized  saint.  The  heavier 
oaths,  except  under  strong  provocation,  were  drop- 
ped (by  instinct  rather  than  by  intention)  in  her 
presence ;  and  mild  adjurations,  as  by  heathen 
gods  or  goddesses,  or  by  a  lover's  tiXJth,  or  by  a 
cavalier's  honor,  substituted  for  them.  They  would 
listen  fondly  as  she  sang  "  divine  poems"  to  her 
lute,  and  declare  she  had  the  sweetest  warbling 
voice  and  the  prettiest  hands  in  His  Majesty's  ihree 
kingdoms.  But  it  never  seemed  to  occur  to  r'nem 
that  her  piety  was  any  condemnatiouj  or  any  -»Uo 


9° 


THE  BRA  7T0NS  AND 


to  them.  Indeed,  she  had  so  many  minut<3  laws 
and  ceremonies  that,  easily  as  they  suited  her,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  fit  them  into  any  but  a 
lady's  life  of  leisure.  She  had  special  prayers  and 
hymns  for  nine  o'clock,  mid  day,  three  o'clock,  six 
o'clock.  And  once  awakening  in  the  night  I  heard 
sounds  like  those  of  her  lute  stealing  from  the  Avin- 
dow  of  the  little  oratory  next  her  chamber.  She 
had  what  seemed  to  me  countless  distinctions  of 
days  and  seasons,  marked  by  the  things  she  ate  or 
did  not  eat,  which  she  observed  as  strictly  as  Aunt 
Dorothy  her  prohibitions  as  to  not  wearing  things. 
Only  in  one  thing  Lady  Lucy  was  happier  than 
Aunt  Dorothy ;  for  whilst  Aunt  Dorothy  fondly 
wished  for  a  book  of  Leviticus  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  could  }iot  find  it,  Ladj^  L^^cy  had  her 
book  of  Leviticus, — not  indeed  exactly  in  the  New 
Testament,  but  solemnly  sanctioned  by  the  author- 
ity of  Archbishop  Laud. 

A  complex  framework  to  adapt  to  the  endless 
varieties  and  inexorable  necessities  of  any  man's 
life,  rich  or  poor,  in  court,  or  camp,  or  city ;  or  in- 
deed of  any  woman's,  unless  provided  v/ith  v/aiting 
gentlewomen. 

In  fact,  the  Lady  Lucy  herself  sometimes  spoke 
with  wistful  looks  and  sighs  of  Mr.  Farrar's  Saci-ed 
College  at  Little  Gidding  (not  far  from  us),  between 
Huntingdon  and  Cambridge,  where  the  voice  of 
prayer  never  ceased  day  nor  night,  and  the  psalter 
was  chanted  through  in  a  rotatory  manner  by  suc- 
cessive worshippers  once  in  every  four-aud-tweuty 
fc.jurs. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


91 


Sir  Walter  and  her  sons  never  attempted  to  imi- 
tate lier.  She  floated  in  their  imagination,  in  a 
land  of  clouds,  between  earth  and  heaven.  Her  re- 
ligion had  a  dainty  sv/eetness  and  solemn  grace 
about  it  most  becoming,  they  considered,  to  a  noble 
lady ;  but  for  men,  except  for  a  few  clergymen,  as 
inapplicable  as  Archbishop  Laud's  priestly  vest- 
ments for  the  street  or  the  battle-field. 

In  our  Puritan  homos  there  was  altogether  an- 
other stamp  of  religion.  Whatever  it  might  lack 
in  grace  and  taste,  it  was  a  religion  for  men  as 
much  as  for  women,  a  religion  for  the  camp  as  much 
as  the  oratory.  Rough  it  might  be  often,  and  stern. 
It  was  never  feeble.  It  had  no  two  standards  of 
holiness  for  clergy  and  laity,  men  and  women.  All 
men  and  women,  we  were  taught,  were  called  to 
love  God  with  the  whole  heai-t ;  to  serve  him  at  all 
times.  If  we  obeyed  we  were  still  (in  our  sinful- 
ness) ever  doing  less  than  duty.  If  we  disobeyed, 
we  were  in  revolt  against  the  King  of  heaven. 
There  were  no  neutrals  in  that  war,  no  reserves  in 
that  obedience. 

And  unhappily  the  Lady  Lucy's  family,  in  sur- 
rendering any  hope  of  reaching  her  eminence  of 
piety,  surrendered  more.  For,  it  is  not  elevating, 
it  is  lowering,  to  have  constantly  before  us  an 
image  of  holiness  which  we  admire  but  do  not  imi- 
tate. 

In  the  morning  the  household  met  in  the  Family 
Ohapcl  (the  Parish  Church  being  for  the  present 
avoided  until  danger  of  the  infectious  sickness  was 
OTer).     In  the  afternoon,  Sir  Waltei  and  his  sona 


p2  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

loyally  played  at  tennis  and  bowls  witli  the  young 
men  of  the  household.  And  in  the  evening  there 
was  a  dance  in  the  hall,  in  which  all  joined. 

The  merriment  Avas  loud,  and  reached  Lettice 
and  me  where  we  sat  with  the  Lady  Lucy  and  her 
lute. 

Yet  now  and  then  one  of  the  boys  would  corae 
in  and  complain  of  the  tedium  of  the  day.  It  was 
such  an  interruption,  they  said,  to  the  employments 
of  the  week,  and  just  at  the  best  season  in  the  year 
for  hunting,  and  with  their  father's  hounds  in  per- 
fect condition  and  training.  Tennis  they  said,  was 
all  very  well  for  boys,  and  Morris-dancing  for  girls, 
but  there  was  no  real  sport  in  such  things  after  all, 
except  to  fill  up  an  idle  hour  or  two.  The  next 
day  there  was  to  be  a  rare  bear-baiting  at  Hunting- 
don, and  the  day  after  a  cock-fight  in  the  next  vil- 
lage. And  at  the  beginning  of  the  following  week 
Sir  Walter  had  pi'omised  to  give  them  a  bull  to  be 
baited.  And  the  Book  of  Sports,  in  their  opinion, 
let  the  Puritans  say  Avhat  they  like,  was  too  rigid 
by  half  in  prohibiting  such  true  old  English  sports 
on  Sundays. 

The  Lady  Lucy  said  a  few  pitiful  tender  words 
on  behalf  of  Sir  Walter's  bull,  which  they  listened 
to  without  the  slightest  disrespect,  or  the  slightest 
change  of  mind — kissing  her  hand  and  laughingly 
vowing  she  was  too  tender  and  sweet  for  this 
world  at  all,  and  that  if  she  had  had  the  making  of 
it  she  would  certainly  have  left  bears  and  bulls  al- 
together out  of  the  creation. 

It  was  without  doubt  a  long  and  dreary  Sunday 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


93 


to  Tloger  and  me.  It  would  naturally  have  been 
long  and  melancholy  anywhere  without  our  Father. 

I  missed  the  busy  work  of  the  week,  which  made 
it  not  only  a  sacred  day  but  a  holiday.  I  missed 
Aunt  Dorothy's  laws  which  made  our  liberty  pre- 
cious. 

But  to  Roger  the  day  had  had  other  ti-ials. 

In  the  evening  he  and  I  had  a  few  minutes  alone 
together  in  the  window  of  the  drawing-chamber. 

'-'■  Oh,  Roger,"  said  I,  "  I  am  afraid  it  cannot  be 
right ;  but  I  am  so  glad  Sunday  is  over." 

"  So  am  I — rather,"  he  said. 

"  Has  it  seemed  long  to  you  ?  I  thought  I  heard 
your  voice  in  the  tennis-court  all  the  afternoon." 

"  You  did  not  hear  mine,"  he  said. 

"  You  did  not  think  it  right  ?"  I  asked,  "  I  won- 
dered how  they  could." 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  its  being  right  or  wrong 
for  other  people,"  said  Roger.  "  But  I  was  sure  it 
was  wrong  for  me.  My  Father  would  not  have  liked 
it,  and,  therefore,  I  could  not  think  of  doing  it;  es- 
pecially when  he  was  aAvay." 

"  Were  they  angry  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  said.     "  They  only  laughed." 

"  Only  laughed !"  said  I.  "  I  think  that  is  worse 
to  bear  than  anything." 

"  So  do  I,"  lie  said. 

"  But  you  did  not  hesitate  ?" 

"  Not  after  they  laughed,  certainly,"  said  he. 
"  That  set  my  blood  up,  naturally  ;  for  it  was  not 
so  much  at  me  as  at  my  Father  and  all  of  us.  They 
paid  I  was  too  much  of  a  man  for  such  a  crew." 


p^  THE  DHJ  YTOA^'S  AND 

"  They  laughed  at  Father  !"  said  I,  in  horror. 

"  Not  by  name,"  said  he,  "  but  at  all  he  thinks 
right — at  the  Puritans,  or  Precisians,  as  they  call 
us^." 

"  What  did  you  do,  Roger  ?"  I  said. 

"  Walked  away  into  the  wood,"  he  replied. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  to  us?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  they  told  me  to  go  to  you,"  he  said, 
flushing. 

"  That  was  a  pity ;  we  were  singing  sweet 
hymns." 

"  I  heard  you,"  he  said.  "  But  I  do  not  think  it 
was  a  pity  I  did  not  come. 

"  What  did  you  find  in  the  wood,  then  ?"  said  I, 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  found  anything,"  he  said. 

"  What  did  you  do  then,  Roger  ?" 

"  I  went  to  the  Lady  Well,  and  lay  down  among 
the  long  grass  by  the  stream  wliich  flows  from  it 
towards  the  Mere,  and  separates  my  Fatlier's  land 
from  Sir  Walter's,  at  the  place  where  you  can  see 
Davenaut  Hall  on  one  side  and  Netherby  among  its 
woods  on  the  other.     And  I  thought." 

"What  did  you  think  of?"  said  I. 

"  I  thought  I  liad  rather  live  as  a  hired  servant 
at  my  Father's  than  as  master  here,"  said  he. 

"  Was  that  all  ?"  said  I. 

"I  thought  of  our  talk  in  the  apple-tree  about 
our  being  puppets,  or  free." 

I  Avas  silent. 

"  And  Olive,"  he  continued,  "  I  seemed  like  some 
one  waking  up,  and  it  flashed  on  me  that  God  has 
110  puppets.     The  devil  has  puppets.     But  God  haa 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


95 


free,  living  creatures,  freely  serving  bim.  And  I 
thought  how  glorious  it  vroulcl  be  to  be  a  free  ser- 
vant and  a  son  of  his.  And  then  I  thought  of  the 
words,  'Thou  hast  redeemed  us  to  God  by  thy 
blood ;'  not  from  God,  Olive,  but  to  God,  to  be  his 
free  servants  for  ever." 

"  That  Avas  a  great  deal  to  think,  Roger,"  said  I. 
*'  I  think  you  did  find  something  in  the  wood." 

"I  found  I  ?<>r?/ito^  something,  Olive,"  he  said  very 
gravely  ;  "  and  I  thought  of  something  IVIr.  Crom- 
well once  said  when  people  were  talking  about  sects 
and  parties, — '  To  be  a  seeker  is  to  be  of  the  best 
sect  next  to  being  a  finder.'  He  meant  to  be  seek- 
ing happiness,  or  wealth,  or  peace,  or  anything  in 
the  world,  Olive,  but  to  be  seeking  God." 

We  were  looking  out  across  the  woods  to  the 
Mere,  which  Ave  could  also  see  from  Netherby.  The 
water  was  crimson  in  the  sunset,  and  beyond  it  the 
flats  stretched  on  and  on,  dark  and  shadowy  except 
where  the  rows  of  willows  and  alders  in  the  dis- 
nice,  and  some  cattle  on  an  enbankment,  stood  out 
distinct  and  black,  like  an  ink  etching,  against  the 
golden  sky. 

And  something  in  Roger's  words  made  the  sky 
look  higher  and  the  Avorld  wider  to  me  than  ever 
before. 

The  next  Aveek,  Lady  Lucy's  eldest  son,  Ilany, 
came  from  London  to  the  Hall  with  an  acquaintance 
of  his.  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor. 

I  thought  Harry  Davenant  the  most  polished 
gentleman  I  had  ever  seen.     He  Avas  the  first  per* 


95 


THE  DEA  YTONS  AND 


son  who  ever  called  me  Mistress  Olive,  and  treated 
me  with  a  gentle  deference  as  if  I  had  been  a  wo- 
man, I  admired  his  manners  exceedingly.  His 
voice,  though  deep  and  strong,  had  something  of 
the  soft  cadence  of  Lady  Lucy's.  He  always  saw 
what  every  one  wanted  before  they  knew  it  them- 
selves. He  always  seemed  to  listen  to  what  you 
said  as  if  he  had  something  to  learn  from  every 
one.  His  whole  soul  ahvays  appeared  to  be  in  what 
he  was  saying  or  what  you  were  saying,  and  yet 
there  seemed  to  be  another  kind  of  porter-soul  out- 
side, quite  independent  of  this  inner  soul,  always  on 
the  watch  to  render  any  little  courtesy  to  all  around. 
I  supposed  these  courtly  attentions  had  become  an 
instinct  to  him,  so  that  he  could  attend  to  them  and 
to  other  things  at  the  same  time,  as  easily  as  we 
can  talk  while  we  are  eating  or  walking. 

He  was  his  mother's  greatest  friend.  Sir  Walter 
never  was  this.  He  was  always  almost  lover-like 
in  his  deference  and  attention  to  her,  stormy  and 
soldier-like  as  his  usual  manner  was.  But  into  her 
thoughts  he  did  not  seem  to  care  to  enter,  any  more 
than  into  her  oratory.  They  had  some  portion  of 
their  worlds  in  common,  but  the  largest  portion, 
by  far,  apart.  And  the  younger  boys  were  like 
him,  more  or  less.  But  whatever  Lady  Lucy  might 
have  missed  in  him  Avas  made  up  to  her  in  her  eld- 
est son. 

He  was  a  cavalier  to  her  heart, — grave,  religious, 
cultivated, — a  soldier  from  duty,  but  finding  his  de- 
light in  poetry  and  music,  and  all  beautiful  things 
made  by  God  or  by  man.     It  was  a  great  interest 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  p7 

to  me  to  sit  at  Lady  Lucy's  feet  and  listen  to  their 
discourse  about  music  and  painting, — about  the 
great  Flemish  painter  Rubens,  who  had  painted  the 
ceiling  of  the  king's  banqueting-iiouse  at  White- 
hall, the  grand  building  which  Mr.  Liigo  Jones  had 
just  erected ;  and  about  the  additions  the  king  had 
lately  made  to  his  superb  collection  of  pictures. 
He  and  Lady  Lucy  spoke  of  the  purchase  of  the 
cartoons  of  Raffaelle  and  of  other  pictures  by  this 
great  master,  and  by  Titian,  Correggio,  and  Giulio 
Romano,  or  by  Cornelius  Jansen  and  other  Flemish 
l^ainters,  with  as  much  triumph  as  if  eacli  picture 
had  been  a  province  won  for  the  crown.  He  spoke 
also  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm  of  the  painter 
Vandyke,  who  was  painting  the  portraits  of  the 
Royal  Family,  and  the  great  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  the  Court.  He  had  brought  a  portrait  of  himself 
by  Vandyke  as  a  present  to  his  mother,  (only,  he 
said,  as  a  bribe  for  her  own  by  the  same  hand)  ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  Mr.  Vandyke  must  be  as  fine 
a  gentleman  as  Harry  Davenant  himself,  or  he  nev- 
er could  have  painted  so  perfectly  and  nobly  the 
noble  features,  the  grave  almost  sad  look  of  the 
eyes,  the  long  chestnut-coloured  love-locks,  the 
courtly  air,  and  the  dress  so  easy  and  yet  so  rich. 

All  this  was  very  new  discourse  to  me ;  paintings, 
especially  religious  paintings  such  as  the  Holy  Fam- 
ilies and  Crucifixions  by  the  foreign  masters  which 
Harry  Davenant  described,  never  having  been  much 
encouraged  among  us. 

When  he  spoke  of  music  and  poetry  I  was  more 
at  home,  and  when  he  alluded  with  admiration  to 
9 


98  THE  DEA  YTONS  AND 

the  Masque  of  Comus  by  Mr.  John  Milton,  I  felt 
myself  flush  as  at  the  praise  of  a  friend. 

For  the  names  revered  at  Davenant  Hall  and  at 
Netherby  were  visually  altogether  different.  For 
instance,  of  Archbishop  Laud  and  Mr.  Went  worth 
(afterwards  Lord  Strafford),  whom  Lady  Lucy  and 
her  son  seemed  to  regard  as  the  two  pillai's  ot 
church  and  state,  I  had  only  heard  as  the  persecu- 
tors of  Mr.  Prynne,  and  the  subvertors  of  the  liber- 
ties of  the  nation. 

But  indeed  the  nation  itself  seemed  to  be  little  in 
ilarry  Davenant's  esteem,  excej^t  as  a  Royal  Estate 
with  very  troublesome  tenants  who  had  to  be  kept 
down ;  and  liberty,  which  in  our  home  was  a  kind 
of  sacred  word,  fell  from  his  lips  as  if  it  had  been 
a  mere  pretext  for  every  kind  of  disorder. 

With  all  his  refinement,  however,  it  did  seem 
strange  to  me  that  Harry  Davenant  should  enter 
with  apparent  zest  into  the  bull-baiting,  bear-baiting, 
and  cock-fighting  which  were  the  festivities  of  the 
next  week.  But  he  said  these  were  fine  old  Eng- 
lish amusements,  and  it  was  right  to  show  the  peo- 
ple that  the  polish  of  the  court  did  not  make  the 
courtiers  dainty  or  womanish,  or  prevent  their  en- 
tering into  these  manly  sports. 

Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  was  a  man  of  a  diflerent 
stamp.  He  had  bold  handsome  features,  black  hair, 
black  eyes,  and  low  forehead,  a  face  with  those 
sharp  contrasts  of  colour  some  people  think  hand- 
some. But  there  was  something  in  him  from  which, 
even  as  a  child,  I  shrank,  although  he  paid  the  most 
finished  compliments  to  the  Lady  Lucy,  Lettice,  and 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


99 


me,  and  to  everything  we  did  or  said.  His  compli- 
ments always  seemed  to  me  like  insults.  When 
Harry  Davenant  spoke  of  Beauty  in  women,  or  pic- 
tures, or  nature,  he  made  you  feel  it  something  akin 
to  God  and  truth,  to  reverence  and  give  thanks  for. 

"When  Sir  Launcelot  spoke  of  Beauty,  he  made 
you  feel  it  a  thing  akin  to  the  dust,  to  be  fingered 
and  smelt  and  tasted,  and  then  to  fade  and  perisli. 

Harry  Davenant's  was  a  polish  bringjing  out  the 
grain,  as  in  fine  old  oak.  Sir  Launcelot's  was  like  a 
glittei'ing  crust  of  ice  over  a  stagnant  pond,  with 
occasionally  a  flaw  giving  you  a  glimpse  into  the 
black  depths  beneath. 

But  I  suppose  it  was  the  Avay  in  which  he  be- 
haved to  Roger  that  more  than  anything  opened 
my  eyes  to  what  he  was.  So  that,  behind  all  his 
bland  smiles  on  us,  I  always  seemed  to  see  the  curl 
of  the  mocking  smile  with  which  he  so  often  ad- 
dressed Roger.  From  the  first  they  seemed  to  rr- 
cocrnize  each  other  as  antagonists. 

Two  days  after  his  coming  Sir  Walter's  bull  was 
to  be  baited  in  a  field  near  the  village.  Lettice  and 
I  were  standing  in  the  hall  porch,  debating  whether 
we  ought  at  once  to  report  to  Lady  Lucy  a  danger- 
ous adventure  from  which  we  had  just  escaped,  or 
whether  it  would  alarm  her  too  much,  when  we 
heai'd  voices  approaching  in  eager  and  ratlier  angry 
conversation.     First  Sir  Walter's  rather  scornful, — 

"Let  the  boy  alone.  If  his  father  chose  to  bring 
him  up  as  a  monk  or  a  mercer  it  is  no  concern  of 
yours  or  mine." 

Then  Sir  Launcelot's  smooth  tones. 


1 00  THE  DRA  YTONS  A  ND 

"  Far  from  it.  Is  there  not  inr'-^ed  sometbing 
quite  amiable  in  such  compassion  as  Mr.  Roger  dis- 
plays for  your  bull  ?  In  a  "woman  it  would  be  ir- 
resistible. Should  we  not  almost  regret  that  the 
hardening  years  are  too  likely  to  destroy  that  de- 
lightful tenderness  ?" 

Then  Roger's  voice,  monotonous  and  low,  as 
always  when  he  was  miich  moved. 

"  I  see  npthing  more  manly,  Sir  Launcelot,  in 
tormenting  a  bull  than  a  cockchafer,  when  neither  of 
them  can  escape.  My  Father  says  it  is  not  so  much 
because  it  is  savage,  as  because  it  is  mean,  that  he 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  cock-fighting  or  bear 
and  bull  baiting." 

Then  a  chorus  of  indignant  disclaimers  of  the 
Comparison  from  the  boys. 

"If  you  are  too  tender  to  stand  a  bull-baiting, 
how  would  you  like  a  battle  ?" 

But  the  next  moment  little  Lettice,  sweet,  gen- 
erous Lettice  (herself  Roger's  prime  tormentor  when 
he  was  left  to  her),  confronting  the  whole  com- 
pany— the  five  brothers  and  Sir  LaunceJot — and 
seizing  her  father's  hand  in  both  hers,  exclaimed, — 

"  For  shame  on  you  all,  Robert  and  George,  and 
Roland,  and  Dick,  and  "Walter"  (Harry  was  not 
there,  and  she  scornfully  omitted  Sir  Launcelot); 
"  you  are  all  baiting  Roger.  And  that  is  worse  than 
baiting  a  dozen  bulls.  Don't  let  them,  Father.  He 
has  done  a  braver  thing  this  very  day  for  us  than 
baiting  a  hundred  bulls.  This  very  morning  he 
faced  that  very  bull  in  the  priory  meadow ;  ])ot  an 
liour  ago.     We  were  crossing  it,  Olive  and  I,  and 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS.  i  o  I  • 

the  bull  ran  at  us,  and  Roger  saw  him  and  leapt  over 
the  hedge  and  fronted  him,  holding  up  my  scarlet 
kercliief,  which  I  had  dropped,  and  then  moved 
slowly  backward,  never  turning  till  we  Avere  safe 
over  tlie  paling  beyond  the  bull's  reach." 

Sir  Walter's  eyes  kindled  as  he  turned  and  licld 
out  his  hand  to  Roger. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this,  my  boy  ?"  he 
said. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  had  anything  to  do  witli  it," 
said  Roger  quietly.  "I  did  not  know  any  one 
thought  I  was  a  coward." 

Sir  Launcelot  took  off  his  plumed  hat  and  bowed 
low  to  Lettice. 

"  Heaven  send  me  such  a  fair  defender,  Mistress 
Lettice,  when  I  am  assailed." 

She  looked  up  in  his  lace  with  her  large  deep  eyes, 
and  said  indignantly, — 

"  I  am  not  Roger's  defender.     He  was  mine." 
He  laughed,  but  not  pleasantly. 
"  Few  would  take  much  heed  of  such  a  danger  for 
such  a  reward,"  he  said. 

After  this  he  professed  to  treat  Roger  with  the 
profoundest  deference. 

"  A  hero  and  a  saint,  a  Don  Quixote  and  one  of 
the  godly,  all  in  one,"  he  said,  "  and  such  a  paragon 
at  sixteen !  What  might  not  England  expect  from 
such  a  son  ?" 

He  was,  moreover,  continually  referring  questions 
of  conscience  to  Roger;  asking  him  whether  it  was 
consistent  with  Christian  compassion  to  play  at  ten- 
nis ;  he  had  heard  of  a  tennis-ball  once  hitting  a 
9* 


102  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

man  in  tlie  eye,  and  who  could  say  but  that  it  might 
happen  again  ?  or  whether  he  seriously  thought  it 
charitable  to  ride  horses  with  sharp  bits,  since  it 
was  almost  certain  they  did  not  like  it !  or  whether 
certain  equestrian  feats  Avere  not  positively  profane, 
since  they  were  brought  to  Europe  by  the  Moors  ; 
or  whether  indeed  there  was  not  a  text  forbidding 
the  riding  of  horses  altogether. 

He  did  not  venture  on  these  taunts  when  Harry 
Davenant  was  present.  But  he  generally  contrived 
to  make  them  with  such  a  quaint  and  good-humoured 
air  that  the  boys  joined  in  the  laugh,  and  Roger, 
having  neither  so  nimble  nor  so  practised  a  wit, 
could  only  flush  with  indignation,  and  then  with 
vexation  at  himself  that  he  could  not  control  the 
quick  rush  of  blood  which  always  betrayed  that  he 
felt  the  sting. 

Sir  Launcelot  had  many  of  the  qualities  which 
command  the  regard  of  boys — an  indiffei-ence  to 
expenditure  sustained  by  the  Fortunatus  purse  of 
an  unbounded  capacity  for  getting  into  debt,  which 
passed  for  generosity  ("  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst,"  said  he  ;  I  can  but  make  interest  with  the 
king,  for  a  monopoly") ;  a  wit  never  too  heavily 
weighted  to  wheel  shai'p  round  on  an  assailant  ; 
skill  and  quickness  in  all  the  accomplishments  of  a 
cavalier,  from  commanding  a  squadron  of  horse  to 
tuning  a  lady's  lute ;  a  dashing  courage  which  shrank 
from  no  bodily  danger ;  [hrave  I  could  not  call  him, 
for  to  be  brave  is  a  quality  of  the  spirit,  and  spirit  it 
was  very  difficult  to  conceive  Sir  Launcelot  had, 
except  such  as  there  is  in  a  mettlesome  horse)  \  a 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


103 


kindly  instinct  which  would  make  him  take  care  of 
his  horses  or  dogs,  or  fling  a  piece  of  money  to  a 
crying  child  ;  or  in  the  wars  share  his  rations  with 
a  hungry  soldier  (plundering  the  next  Puritan  cot- 
tage to  repay  himself).  For  cruel  he  was  not,  at 
least  not  for  cruelty's  sake  ;  if  his  pleasures,  whether 
at  the  hull-baiting  or  bear-baiting,  or  of  other  baser 
kinds  proved  cruelty  to  others,  that  was  not  his 
intention,  it  was  only  an  attendant  accident,  not, 
("  of  course,")  to  be  avoided,  since  life  was  short 
and  enjoyment  must  be  had,  follow  what  might. 

But  of  all  that  went  on  in  the  tennis-court  and  the 
riding-ground  I  knew  little,  except  such  glimpses  as 
I  have  given,  until  long  afterwards,  when  Lettice, 
who  heard  it  from  her  brothers  told  me  ;  Roger 
scorning  to  breathe  a  word  of  comjilaint  on  the 
subject,  either  while  at  the  Hall  or  after  our  return. 

But  oh  !  the  joy  when  one  morning  my  Father 
came  up  to  the  Hall  with  two  led  horses  following 
him,  the  speechless  joy  with  which,  rushing  down 
from  Lady  Lucy's  drawing  chamber,  I  met  him  at 
the  great  door  and  threw  myself  into  his  arms  as  he 
dismounted. 

"  Why,  Olive,"  he  said,  "  you  are  like  a  small 
whirlwind." 

Yet  I  shed  many  tears  when  the  moment  came  to 
Sjo.  Lady  Lucy,  if  no  more  a  serene  goddess,  and 
embodiment  of  perfect  womanhood  to  me,  was  in 
some  sense  more  by  being  less.  I  loved  her  as  a 
dear,  loving,  mother-like  woman.  Her  tender  words 
that  night  by  my  bedside — "  Olive,  I  am  not  all  or 
half  I  would  be.     But  I  could  not  bear  to  be  dis* 


1  ©4  "I'HE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

trusted  by  yoii" —  and  all  her  frank,  gracious,  con  • 
siderate  self-forgetful  ways  had  made  my  heart  cling 
with  a  true,  reverent  tenderness  to  her,  far  deejier 
rooted  than  my  old  idolatry.  And  Lettice,  generous, 
eager,  willful  as  the  wind,  truthful  as  the  light,  now 
imperious  as  an  empress,  now  self-distrustful  and 
confiding  as  a  little  child,  her  sweet  changing  beauty 
seemed  to  me  only  the  necessary  raiment  of  the 
ever-changing,  varying,  yet,  constant  heart,  that 
glowed  in  the  brilliant  flush  of  her  cheek,  and 
beamed  or  flashed  through  her  eye. 

Lettice  and  I  were  friends  by  right  of  our  differ- 
ences and  our  sympathies,  by  right  of  a  common 
antagonism  to  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor,  and  our  com- 
mon conviction  of  our  each  having  in  Roger  and  in 
Harry  Davenant  the  best  brothers  in  the  world. 
Lettice  and  Harry  royalist,  and  Roger  and  I  pa- 
triots to  the  core  ;  they  devoted  to  the  King  and  the 
Queen  Marie,  and  we  to  England  and  her  liberties ; 
they  persuaded  that  Archbishop  Laud  was  a  new 
apostle,  we  that  he  was  a  new  Diocletian. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  joy  of  waking  early  the 
next  morning  in  my  old  chamber,  and  looking  up 
and  seeing  the  sheen  of  the  morning  in  the  Mere, 
and  watching  Aunt  Gretel  asleep  in  the  bed  close 
to  mine,  and  hearing  the  fii-st  solitary  ci'ow  of  the 
king  of  the  cocks,  and  then  the  clacking  of  his  family 
as  they  woke  up  one  by  one ;  the  bleating  of  the 
sheep  in  the  orchard  meadow,  and  the  lowing  of 
cows  in  the  sheds — the  lowing  of  White-face,  and 
Beauty  my  own  orplianed  calf,  and  Meadow-SAVcet  j 


THE  Bxi  VENANTS. 


105 


and  then  the  cheery  voice  of  Tib,  the  dairy-woman, 
recovered  Iroia.  tjic  sickness,  reniostratiug  with  them 
on  their  impatience ;  and  the  calls  of  Bob,  Tib's 
husband,  to  his  oxen,  as  he  yoked  tliem  and  drove 
his  team  a-field  ;  and  mingled  with  all,  the  deep  sol- 
dierly bay  of  old  Lion,  the  watch-mastiff,  and  the 
sharp  business-like  bark  of  the  sheep-dogs  driving 
the  flocks  to  fresh  pastures.  It  was  such  a  delight 
to  be  among  all  the  livini;  creatures  aojain.  It  felt 
like  coming  out  of  an  enchanted  castle,  drowsy  with 
Derfumes  and  languid  strains  of  music,  into  the  fresh 
open  air  of  God's  own  work-a-day  world — a  world 
of  daylight,  and  truth,  and  judgment,  and  right- 
eousness, and  duty. 

I  was  dressed  before  Aunt  Gretel  was  fairly 
awake,  and  down  among  the  animals,  eager  to  learn 
from  Tib  the  latest  news  of  all  my  friends  in  field 
and  poultry-yard. 

But  Roger  was  out  before  me.  And  before  break- 
fast we  had  visited  nearly  all  our  familiar  haunts — 
the  heronry  by  the  Mere,  the  creek  where  the  water- 
fowl loved  to  build  among  the  rushes,  the  swan's 
nest  on  the  reedy  island,  the  shaded  fish-ponds  in 
the  orchard,  the  little  brook  below  where  he  and  I 
had  made  the  weir,  the  bit  of  waste  low-ground 
which  the  brook  used  to  flood,  which  with  Bob's 
help  we  had  dyked  and  embanked  into  corn-ground 
for  Roger's  pigeons. 

My  very  spinning  task  with  Aunt  Dorothy  v/as 
a  luxury.  I  could  scarcely  help  singing  with  a 
loud  voice  as  I  span ;  my  heart  was  singing  and 
dancing  every  moment  of  the  day.     The  lessons  for 


.  o6  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

my  Father  were  a  keen  delight,  like  a  race  on  the 
dykes  in  a  fresh  Avind ;  the  Latin  gi-ammar  was  like 
poetry  to  nie.  It  was  such  a  liberation  to  have 
come  into  a  busy,  every-day,  working  Avorld  again ; 
— a  world  of  law,  and  therefore  of  liberty,  where 
every  one  had  his  task,  and  every  task  its  time,  and 
the  play-honrs  were  as  busy  as  the  working-hours 
to  heads  and  hands  vigorous  with  the  rebound  of 
real  necessary  labour. 

All  the  world  became  thus  again  our  play-ground, 
and  all  the  creatures  our  play-raates,  by  the  mere 
fact  that  when  not  at  play  Ave,  too,  were  fellow- 
workers  Avith  them — Avorking  as  hard  in  our  way 
as  ant  or  bee,  or  happy  building  bird,  or  cleansing 
winds,  or  CA^en  the  glorious  ministering  sunbeams 
themselves,  Avhose  Avork  AA^as  all  joyous  play,  and 
Avhose  play  was  all  Avorld-helpful  work. 

An  then  it  Avas  inspiring  to  hear  once  more  the 
great  old  honoured  names  of  our  childhood — Sir 
John  Eliot  (honoured  in  his  dishonoured  grave), 
and  Hampden,  and  Pym,  and  Sir  Bevill  GrenAdl 
(loyal  then  to  his  country  and  his  King,  and  after- 
wards, as  he  believed,  to  his  King  for  his  country's 
sake),  and  Mr.  Cromwell,  Avho  whether  in  Parlia- 
ment, in  the  Fens,  or  on  the  "  Soke  of  Somersham," 
understood  liberty  to  be,  liberty  to  restrain  the 
strong  from  opj)ressing  the  Aveak — liberty  to  speak 
the  truth  loud  enough  for  all  the  Avorld  to  hear. 

I  thought  I  began  to  understand  Avhat  Avas  meant 
by,  "  Thou  hast  set  my  feet  in  a  large  room."  For 
it  seemed  like  coming  forth  from  the  ante-room  of 
a  court  presence-chamber,  Avith  loAv-toned  voices. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


107 


perfumed  fitmosphere,  constrained,  soft  movements, 
into  our  own  dear,  free  Old  England,  where  we 
might  run,  and  sing,  and  freely  use  every  free  fac- 
ulty to  the  utmost,  beneath  the  glorious  open  hea- 
vens, which  are  the  Presence-chamber  of  the  Great 
Kinir. 


Chapter    IV. 

TIE  very  afternoon  of  Roger's  and  my 
return  from  Davenant  Hall  Dr.  Antony 
came  on  one  of  his  ever-welcome  visits. 
He  had,  by  dint  of  much  trouble  and 
perseverance,  obtained  access  to  Mr.  Prynne,  in  his 
solitary  cell  at  Caernarvon,  and  to  Mr.  Bastwick  and 
Mr.  Burton,  in  theirs,  in  Launceston  and  Lancaster 
Castles ;  and  afterwards  to  the  prisons  to  which 
they  were  removed,  in  Guernsey,  Jersey,  and  the 
Scilly  Islands,  and  a'so  to  old  Mr.  Alexander  Leigh- 
t6n,  in  his  prison,  after  his  most  cruel  mutilations. 

Often  in  the  summer  Dr.  Antony  left  his  patients 
for  a  season,  to  visit  such  throughout  the  land  as 
were  in  bonds  for  conscience'  sake,  bearing  them 
the  tidings,  so  precious  to  the  solitary  captive,  that 
in  the  rush  of  life  outside  they  were  not  forgotten  ; 
taking  them  food  or  jihysic,  and  such  poor  bodily 
comforts  as  were  permitted  by  the  hard  rules  of 
their  imprisonment,  and  bringing  back  messages  to 
theii-  friends  and  kinsfolk.  This  last  year  Dr.  An- 
tony himself  (as  we  heard  from  others)  had  been 

(108) 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


109 


somewliat  impoverished  by  n  fine  of  £250  sterling, 
to  which  he  had  been  sentenced  by  the  Star-Cham- 
ber  on  account  of  these  visits  of  compassion;  al- 
though there  was  no  law  against  them. 

This  time  he  brought  us  grievous  tidings  from 
many  quarters ;  and  very  grave  was  the  discourse 
between  him  and  my  Father. 

Everywhere  disgrace  and  disaster  to  our  country ; 
the  French  Huguenots  cursing  our  Court  for  en- 
couraging them  to  insurrection,  and  then  sending 
ships  against  them  to  Rochelle  (though,  thank  Hea- 
ven !  scarcely  one  of  our  brave  sailors  would  bear 
arms  against  their  Protestant  brethren — officers  and 
men  deserting  in  a  body  when  they  discovered 
against  whom  they  had  been  treacherously  sold  to 
fight) ;  our  own  fisheries  on  the  east  coast  sold  to 
the  Hollanders,  and  the  capture  of  one  of  our  India- 
men  by  Dutch  ships  ;  the  Barbary  corsairs  landing 
on  the  coast  near  Plymouth,  and  kidnapping  our 
countrymen  and  countrywomen  from  their  village 
homes,  to  sell  them  as  slaves  to  the  Moors  in  Africa ; 
the  King  of  Spain,  the  very  pillar  of  Popeiy  and 
persecution,  the  sworn  foe  of  our  religion  and  our 
race  from  the  days  of  the  Armada,  permitted  to  re- 
cruit for  his  armies  in  Ireland ;  the  Government, 
with  Went  worth  (ti-aitor  to  liberty)  and  Archbish- 
op Laud  at  the  head  of  it,  weak  as  scorched  tow  to 
chastise  our  enemies  abroad,  yet  armed  with  scor- 
pions against  every  defender  of  our  ancient  rights 
at  home.  The  decision  but  lately  given  by  the 
judges  against  the  brave  and  good  Mr.  Hampden 
as  to  ship  money,  placing  our  fortunes  at  the  mercy 
10 


1 1  o  THE  DRA  YTONS  ANT) 

of  the  Court,  who  chiefly  valued  them  as  mea? 
■wherewith  to  destroy  our  liberties ;  Justice  BcrL 
ley  declaring  from  the  judgmeut-seat  that  Lex  wj  ? 
not  Kex,  hut  that  Rex  -was  Lex ;  thirty-one  monop- 
olies sold,  thus  making  nearly  every  article  of  con- 
sumption at  once  dear  and  bad.  The  sweeping, 
steady  pressure  of  Lord  Strafford's  (Mr,  Went- 
worth)  "  Thorough"  wrought  into  a  vexation  for 
every  housewife  in  the  kingdom,  by  the  king's  j)etty 
monopolies.  The  heavy  links  of  Wentworth's  im- 
perious desj^otism,  filed  and  twisted  by  Archbishop 
Laud's  petty  tyrannies  into  needles  wherewith  to 
torture  tender  consciences,  and  wiry  ligatures  where- 
with to  tie  and  bind  every  limb.  "  Regulations  as 
to  the  colours  and  cutting  of  vestments,  worthy 
(Aunt  Dorothy  said)  of  a  court  tailor,  enforced  by 
cruelties  minute  and  persevering  enough  for  a  ma- 
lignant witch."  Dark  stories,  too,  of  private  wrong, 
wrought  by  Wentworth  in  Ireland,  worthy  of  the 
basest  days  of  the  Roman  emperors ;  tales  of  royal 
forests  arbitrarily  extended  from  six  miles  to  sixty, 
to  the  ruin  of  hundreds  of  gentlemen  and  peasants ; 
disgraceful  news  of  faith  broken  with  Dutch  and 
French  refugees  welcome  to  the  heart  of  England 
since  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  made  secure  with  rights 
confirmed  to  them  by  James  and  by  King  Charles 
himself,  now  forbidden  by  Archbishop  Laud  to 
worship  God  in  the  way  for  which  their  fathers  had 
suffered  banishment  and  loss  of  all  things, — driven 
to  seek  another  home  in  Holland,  and  in  their  second 
exile  ruining  the  flourishing  town  of  Ipswich,  where 
they  had  lived,  and  carrying  over  the  cloth-trade 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  1 1 1 

which  was  the  support  of  our  eastern  counties  to 
our  rivals  the  Dutcli. 

"  You  have  a  coj^y  of  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs  ?" 
Dr.  Antony  asked  of  my  Father,  after  he  had  been 
speaking  of  these  lamentable  things. 

"Wliat  good  Protestant  English  household  is 
without  one  ?"  exclaimed  Aunt  Dorothy  ;  "  least  of 
all  such  as  this,  whose  forefathers  are  enrolled  in 
its  lists." 

"  Take  good  care  of  it,  then,"  Dr.  Antony  replied, 
"  for  the  Primate  hath  forbidden  another  copy  to 
be  printed,  under  the  penalties  the  Star-Chamber 
will  not  fail  to  enforce." 

"The  times  are  dark,"  he  continued,  "  dark  and 
silent.  I  stood  this  spring  by  the  grave  of  Sir  John 
Eliot,  in  the  Church  of  the  Tower ;  as  brave,  and 
loyal,  and  devout  a  gentleman  as  this  nation  ever 
knew,  killed  by  inches  in  prison  for  calmly  pleading 
the  ancient  rights  of  England  in  his  place  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  then  his  body  refused  to  his  family  for 
honourable  burial  among  his  kindred  in  his  parish 
church  in  Cornwall,  and  cast  like  a  felon's  into  a 
dishonoured  grave  in  the  precincts  of  the  prison 
where  he  died.  And  I  thought  how  it  might  have 
thrown  a  deeper  shadow  over  his  deathbed  if  he 
could  have  foreseen  how,  during  these  six  years,  the 
tyranny  would  be  tightened,  and  the  voice  of  the  na- 
tion never  once  be  heard  in  her  lawful  Pai-liaments." 

"  The  voice  of  the  nation  is  audible  enough  to 
those  who  have  ears  to  hear,"  said  ray  Father, 

"  Yea,  verily "  said  Dr.  Antony,  "  if  you  had 
journeyed  through  the  country  as  I  have,  you  would 


1 1 2  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

say  so.  When  will  kings  learn  that  moans  and 
subdued  groans  between  set  teeth  are  more  dangerous 
from  human  lips  than  any  torrents  of  passionate 
speech  ?" 

"  And,"  added  my  Father,  "  that  there  is  a  silence 
even  more  significant  and  perilous  than  these  !" 

"  But  there  are  two  points  of  hope,"  said  Dr. 
Antony.  "  One  is  the  Puritan  colony  in  New 
England,  where  our  brethren  have  exchanged  the 
vain  struggle  with  human  blindness  and  tyranny  for 
the  triumphant  struggle  witli  nature  in  her  primeval 
forests  and  untrodden  wilds.  Four  thousand  good 
English  men  and  women,  and  seventy-seven  clergy- 
men, have  taken  refuge  there  during  these  last 
twenty  years.  Not  poor  men  only,  for  they  have 
taken  many  thousand  pounds  of  English  money,  or 
money's  worth,  with  them,  forsaking  country  and 
comfortable  homes  for  the  dear  liberty  to  obey  God 
rather  than  man.  And  these  plantations,  after  the 
severest  struggles  and  privations,  are  beginning  to 

gl'OW. 

"  What  they  hope  and  mean  to  be  is  shown  by 
this,  that  two  yeai-s  since,  while  food  was  still  hard 
to  win  from  the  wilderness,  and  roads  and  bridges 
had  yet  to  be  made,  the  plantation  of  Massachussetts 
voted  £400  for  the  founding  of -a  college.  Such  an 
act  might  seem  more  like  the  foresight  of  the  fithers 
of  a  nation  than  the  care  of  a  little  exiled  band 
struggling  for  existence  with  the  Indians,  the  wilder- 
ness, and  a  hostile  Court  at  home. 

"  The  other  point  of  hope  is  the  Greyfriars'  Church 
in  Edinburgh,  where,  on  the  1st  of  last  March,  after 


THE  DAVENANTS.  II3 

long  prayers  and  preachings,  the  great  congregation 
rose,  gathered  from  all  corners  of  the  kingdom, — 
nobles,  gentlemen,  burgesses,  ministers,  lifted  their 
hands  solemnly  to  heaven,  and  swore  to  the  Cove- 
nant." Then  Dr.  Antony  took  a  manuscript  paper 
from  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  read :  "  '  We  abjure,' 
they  swore,  '  the  Roman  Antichrist, — all  his  tyran- 
nous lavv^  made  upon  indifferent  things  against  our 
Christian  liberty;  his  erroneous  doctrine  against 
the  written  Word,  the  perfection  of  the  law,  the 
office  of  Christ,  and  His  blessed  Evangel ;  his  cruel 
judgments  against  infants  departing  this  life  without 
the  sacraments  ;  his  blasphemous  priesthood ;  his 
canonization  of  men ;  his  dedicating  of  kirks,  altars, 
days,  vows  to  creatures;  his  jmrgatory,  prayers 
for  the  dead,  praying  or  speaking  in  a  strange 
language ;  his  desperate  and  uncei'tain  repent- 
ance ;  his  general  and  doubtsome  faith  ;  his  holy 
water,  baptizing  of  bells,  conjuring  of  spirits,  cross- 
ing, saving,  anointing,  conjuring,  hallowing  of  God's 
good  creatures,'  '  We,  noblemen,  barons,  gentle- 
men, burgesses,  ministers,  and  commons,  considering 
the  danger  of  the  true  Reformed  religion,  of  the 
king's  honour,  and  of  the  public  peace  of  the  king- 
dom by  the  manifold  innovations  and  evils  generally 
contained  and  paiticularly  mentioned  in  our  late 
supplications,  complaints,  and  protestations,  do 
hereby  profess,  and  before  God,  his  angels,  and  the 
world,  solemnly  declare  that  with  our  whole  hearts 
we  agree  and  resolve  all  the  days  of  our  life  con- 
Btantly  to  adhere  unto  and  defend  the  foresaid  true 
religion,  and  forbearing  the  practice  of  all  novations 
10* 


114 


THE  DRAYTOhS  AND 


already  introduced  in  the  matter  of  the  worsliip  of 
God,  or  approbations  of  the  corruptions  of  the  pulilic 
government  of  the  Kirk,  till  they  be  tried  or  allowed 
in  free  Assemblies  and  in  Parliaments,  to  labour  by 
all  means  lawful  to  recover  the  purity  and  liberty  of 
the  Gospel.'  '  Neither  do  we  fear  the  aspersions  of 
rebellion,  combination,  or  what  else  our  adversaries, 
from  their  craft  and  malice,  could  put  upon  us, 
seeing  what  we  do  is  well  warranted,  and  ariseth 
from  an  unfeigned  desire  to  mantain  the  true  worship 
of  God,  the  majesty  of  our  king,  and  the  peace  of 
the  kingdom,  for  the  common  happiness  of  ourselves 
and  posterity.  And  because  we  cannot  look  for  a 
blessing  of  God  on  our  proceedings  except  with  our 
subscription  we  gave  such  a  life  and  conversation  as 
becoraeth  Christians  who  have  renewed  their  cove- 
nant with  God,  Ave  therefore  j^romise  to  endeavour 
to  be  good  examples  to  others  of  all  godliness,  sober- 
ness, and  righteousness,  and  of  every  duty  we  owe 
to  God  and  man.  And  we  call  the  living"  God,  the 
Searcher  of  hearts,  to  witness,  as  Ave  shall  ansAverto 
Jesus  in  that  great  day,  under  pain  of  God's  ever- 
lasting wrath  and  of  infamy ;  most  humbly  beseech- 
ing the  Lord  to  strengthen  us  Avith  his  Holy  Spirit 
for  this  end.'  And  this,"  added  Dr.  Antony,  "  has 
been  sworn  to  not  in  the  Greyfriars'  Church  alone  ; 
but  by  croAvds,  signed  Avith  their  blood  on  parchment 
spread  on  the  stones  of  the  churchyards  in  Edin- 
burgh and  Glasgow ;  yea,  in  church  after  chui"ch, 
in  city,  village,  and  on  hill-side,  from  John  o'Groats' 
House  to  the  Borders,  from  Mull  to  Fife,  Avith  tears, 
and  shouts,  and  fervent  prayers." 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  \  1 5 

"  And  this  means  ?'  said  my  Father. 

"  It  means  that  the  Scottish  nation  will  rather  die 
than  submit  to  Archbishop  Laud's  ceremonies  and 
canons ;  but  that  they  mean  neither  to  die  nor  to 
submit ;  that  every  covenanted  congregation  will 
be  a  recruiting  ground,  if  necessary,  for  a  covenanted 
army  ;  that  the  oath  SAVorn  in  the  Kirk  they  are  pre- 
pared to  fulfil  on  the  battle-field." 

"  And  a  goodly  army  they  might  soon  discipline," 
said  my  Father, "  with  the  military  officers  they  have 
trained  under  the  great  Gustavns." 

"It  means,"  added  Dr.  Antony,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  that  they  are  ready  to  kindle  a  fire  for  reli- 
gion and  liberty  in  Scotland  which  will  not  stop  at 
the  Borders,  and  will  find  fuel  enough  in  every 
county  in  England." 

"  The  Court  had  better,  for  its  own  peace,  have 
heeded  Jenny  Geddes'  folding-stool,"  said  my  Father. 

"For  his  own  peace,"  rejoined  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  but  scarcely  for  ours." 

From  that  time  (1G38),  thi-ough  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  public  and  private  life  were 
so  intcrtAvined  that  no  fiiithful  history  can  divide 
them.  In  quieter  times,  while  the  great  historical 
paintings  are  being  wrought  in  parliament-houses 
and  palaces,  countless  small  family-pictures  are  being 
woven  entirely  independent  of  these  in  countless 
homes.  But  in  times  of  revolution,  national  history 
and  private  story  are  interwoven  into  one  great 
tapestry,  from  which  the  humblest  figure  cannot  bo 
detached  without  unravelling  the  whole  web. 


1 1 6  THE  DEA  YTONS  A.VD 

Such  times  are  hard,  but  they  are  ennobling.  Or 
at  least  they  are  enlarging.  Faults,  and  ordinary 
virtues  become  crimes,  or  lieroical  virtues,  by  mere 
force  of  temperature  and  space.  Principles  are 
tested;  pretences  are  dissolved  by  tlie  fact  of  being 
pretences.  Such  times  are  ennobling,  but  they  are 
also  necessarily  tragical.  All  noble  lives — all  lives 
worth  living — are  expanded  from  the  small  circles 
of  everyday  domestic  circumstances  into  portions  of 
the  grand  orbits  of  the  worlds.  Yet,  doubtless,  there- 
by ia  themselves  sucli  lives  must  often  become  frag- 
ments instead  of  Avholes,  must  seem  in  themselves 
unfinished,  must  be  in  themselves  inexplicable. 

But,  indeed,  are  not  the  histories  of  nations,  and 
revolutions  themselves,  even  the  grandest,  but  frag- 
ments of  those  greater  orbits  of  Avhich  we  scarcely, 
even  in  centuries,  can  trace  the  movement  ?  Is  it 
any  wonder  then  that  national  histories  as  well  as 
personal  should  often  seem  tragical  ?  As  now,  alas, 
to  us  !  poor  tempest-tossed  fragments  of  the  ship's 
company  which  we  deemed  should  have  brought 
home  the  argosies  for  ages  to  come,  driven  to  these 
untrodden  far-off  shores ;  whilst  to  England,  instead 
of  the  golden  fleece  of  j^eace  and  liberty,  our  enter- 
prise may  seem  but  to  have  brought  a  tyranny  more 
cruel  and  a  court  more  corrupt.  Yet  may  there  be 
something  in  the  future  v.^iich,  to  those  wlio  look 
back,  will  explain  all ! 

For  England ;  and  perhaps  even  for  these  wild 
shores  Avhich  we  fondly  call  New  England  ! 

Can  it  be  possible  that  we  have  won  the  G older 
Fleece,  and  have  brought  it  hllher  ? 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


117 


There  is  something,  moreover,  in  having  lived  in 
times  of  storm.  The  temperature  is  raised  at  such 
times ;  all  life  is  keener,  colour  more  vivid,  and 
growth  more  rapid. 

A  nation  in  revolution  is,  in  more  ways  than  one, 
like  a  ship  in  a  storm.  The  dividing  barrriers  of 
selfishness  are  dissolved  for  a  time  into  a  common 
passion  of  patriotic  hope,  pui-pose,  and  endeavour. 
Wo  feel  our  common  humanity  in  our  common 
throbs  of  hope  and  feai',  in  our  common  efforts  for 
deliverance.  And  we  are  (cr  ought  to  be)  nobler, 
and  more  large  of  heart  for  ever  after waixls.  And 
I  think  the  greater  part  are.  Perhaps,  in  some 
measure,  all ;  unless,  indeed,  it  be  the  ship's  cats, 
who,  no  doubt,  privately  pursue  the  ship's  mice 
with  undeviating  purpose  through  the  raging  of 
winds  and  waves,  and  look  on  the  strife  of  the  ele- 
ments as  a  providential  arrangement  to  enable  them 
to  fulfil  their  mousing  destinies  with  less  inter- 
ruption. 

And  what  such  times  of  revolution  do  for  a  na- 
tion, ought  not  Christianity,  the  great  perpetual 
revolution,  to  do  for  us  always  ? 

The  great  hindrance  seems  to  me  to  be,  that  it  is 
so  much  easier  to  be  partizans  than  patriots,  whe- 
ther in  the  Church  or  State. 

If  men  would  do  for  the  country  what  they  do 
for  the  party,  what  a  country  we  should  have  ! 

If  Christians  would  do  for  tlie  Church  what  they 
do  for  their  sect,  what  a  world  we  should  have ! 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century,  from  the  signing  of 
the  Covenant  in  the  High  Kirk  of  Edinburgh,  the 


1 1  g  THE  BRA  rrOXS  AND 

long  struggle  went  on.  Nor  has  it  ceased  yet, 
though  the  combatants  have  changed,  and  the  bat- 
tle-field. 

The  Scottish  covenanted  congregations  grew 
quickly  indeed  into  a  covenanted  army,  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  border.  The  King,  by  Archbishop 
Laud's  counsel,  disbelieving  in  the  Covenant,  pro- 
claimed that  if  within  six  weeks  the  Scotch  did  not 
renounce  it,  he  would  come  and  chastise  them  (in  a 
fatherly  way)  with  an  army.  The  King  and  Arch- 
bishop Laud  regarded  the  Covenant  as  a  freak  of 
rebellious  misguided  children.  The  Scotch  regard- 
ed it  as  the  portion  of  the  eternal  law  of  God  which 
they  then  had  to  keep ;  and  would  keep,  or  die. 

A  difference  not  to  be  settled  by  royal  proclama- 
tion. 

The  Scotch  had  the  advantage  of  beiiu/  their  own 
army,  ready  to  fight  for  their  Divine  law ;  while 
the  king  had  to  pay  his  army  with  the  coin  of  the 
realm,  and  never  could  inspire  them  to  the  end  with 
the  conviction  that  they  were  fighting  for  anything 
but  coin  of  the  realm. 

The  coin  of  the  realm,  moreover,  lay  in  the  keep- 
ing of  those  dragons  called  Parliaments,  which  his 
majesty  had  termed  "  vipers  "  at  their  last  meeting, 
and  in  a  letter  to  Straflbrd,  had  compared  to  "  cats," 
tameable  when  young,  "  cursed  "  if  allowed  to  grow 
old,  and  which  he  had  therefore  banished  under- 
ground for  eleven  years  into  shadow  and  silence. 

When,  therefore,  the  king  and  the  Covenanted 
army  met  on  the  borders,  it  was  found  that  the 
Scotch,  commanded,  as  my  Father  said,  by  old  GuB- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


119 


tavus  Adolphus's  officers ;  every  regiment  as  in 
that  old  Swedish  array,  also  a  congregation,  meet- 
ing morning  and  evening  round  its  banner  of 
"  Christ's  crown  and  covenant,"  for  prayer  was  a 
rock  against  which  the  English  army  might  vainly 
break ;  but  from  which,  as  the  event  proved,  it  pre- 
ferred to  ebb  silently  away,  the  pay  for  Avhich  only 
it  professed  to  fight,  being,  moreover,  exhausted. 

The  king  took  refuge  in  a  treaty,  promising  to 
leave  Kirk  aifairs  in  the  hands  of  the  Kirk,  and  to 
call  a  free  assembly.  Poor  gentleman,  his  promises 
were  still  believed  to  have  some  small  amount  of 
truth  in  them,  and  a  pacification  was  efiected. 

Then  came  the  moment  of  hope  for  those  who 
had  been  watching  those  movements  with  the  in- 
tensest  interest  in  England. 

Of  the  two  evils,  a  remonstrating  Parliament  in 
London  and  a  fighting  Kirk  in  Scotland,  the  former 
now  appeared  to  the  king  the  least.  In  the  keepmg 
of  the  Parliament,  dragon-monster  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  lay  the  gold.  And  once  more,  after  a  silence 
of  eleven  years,  on  the  15th  of  April,  1640,  the 
Parliament  was  summoned ;  a  weapon  welded  by 
the  wrongs  and  the  patience  of  eleven  years  into  a 
temper  the  king  had  done  well  to  heed. 

Pym  and  Hampden  Avere  the  chief  spokesmen, 
and  Mr.  Cromwell  sat  for  Huntingdon. 

At  the  last  Parliament  they,  and  brave  men  like 
them,  had  Avcpt  bitter  tears  at  the  king's  arbitrary 
measures,  and  at  his  false  dealing. 

At  this  Parliament  there  were  no  tears  shed. 
There  were  no  disrespectful  or  hasty  words  spoken. 


120  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

It  was  as  if  in  spirit  they  met  around  the  grave 
of  the  martyred  Sir  John  Eliot,  and  would  do  or 
say  nothing  to  dishonour  the  grave  to  which  since 
last  they  met  he  had  been  brought  for  liberty. 

But  no  portion  of  the  hoarded  treasure  could  the 
king  force  or  cajole  from  their  grasp.  The  court 
insisted  on  supplies.  The  Parliament  insisted  on 
grievances. 

And  on  May  the  5th,  the  king  dissolved  the  Par- 
liament. 

My  Father's  voice  trembled  with  emotion  when  he 
heard  it.  "  They  would  have  saved  liim  !"  he  said. 
"  They  would  have  saved  the  country  and  the  king  !" 

Said  Aunt  Dorothy  grimly,  "The  king  prefers 
armies  to  parliaments  ;  and  no  doubt  he  will  have 
his  choice." 

A  second  royal  army  was  raised  by  enforcing 
ship-money,  seizing  the  pepper  of  the  Indian  mer- 
chants, and  compelling  loans,  filling  the  towns  and 
cities  with  angry  men  who  dared  not  resist,  and  the 
prisons  with  brave  men  who  dared.  And  to  rouse 
the  country  further,  the  queen  appealed  publicly 
for  aid  to  the  Roman  Catholics,  whilst  Archbishop 
Laud  demanded  contributions  of  the  clergy.  Earl 
Strafford,  recalled  from  Ireland,  was  appointed  com- 
mander-in-chief The  court  endeavoured  also  to 
enkindle  the  fury  of  the  old  Border  war-memories ; 
but  the  Borderers  were  brethren  in  the  faith,  and, 
refusing  to  hate  each  other,  combined  in  hating  the 
bishops. 

The  second  army  melted  like  the  first,  after  some 
little  heartless  fighting  in  a  cause  they  hated ;  hav- 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  \  i  \ 

ing  distinguished  itself  mainly  by  shouting  its 
sympathy  with  the  Puritan  preachers  in  the  various 
towns  through  which  it  passed;  by  insisting  on 
testing  whether  its  commanders  were  Papists  before 
it  would  follow  them  to  the  field;  and  by  draining 
the  king's  treasury,  so  that  he  could  proceed  no 
further  without  once  more  looking  to  the  dreaded 
guardians  of  the  gold. 

"  They  meet  in  a  diifei-ent  temper  from  the  last," 
my  Father  said,  as  we  walked  home  from  the  village, 
where  we  had  eagerly  hastened  to  meet  the  flying 
Post,  who  galloped  from  one  patriot's  house  to  an- 
other Avith  printed  sheets  and  letters  containing  the 
account  of  the  king's  opening  speech  on  the  3d  of 
November ;  "  as  diiferent  as  the  sweet  May  days 
of  promise  during  which  the  Little  Parliament  de- 
bated, from  the  gray  fogs  which  creep  along  the 
Fens  before  our  eyes  to-day.  Summer,  and  hope, 
and  restitution  brightened  before  that  April  Parlia- 
ment. Over  this  lower  winter,  storms,  and  retri- 
bution ;  slow  clearing  of  the  stubble-fields  of  centu- 
ries, stern  ploughing  of  the  soil  for  better  harvests, 
not  to  be  reaped,  perchance,  by  the  hands  that 
sow." 

For  the  six  months  between  had  been  ill-filled  by 
the  court  party. 

I  remember  now  how  one  day  during  those 
months  my  Father's  hands  trembled  and  his  voice 
grew  low  as  a  whisper  as  he  read  to  us  a  letter 
telling  how  a  poor  reckless  young  drummer  lad, 
who,  when,  on  leave  from  the  army  in  the  north. 
Lad  joined  a  wild  mob  of  London  apprentices  ia  an 
11 


1 2  2  THE  DRA  YTONS  A  ND 

attack  on  Lambeth  Palace,  had  been  rackeil  and 
tortured  in  the  Tower  to  make  him  confess  his  ac- 
comjslices ;  ancl  torture  failing  to  make  him  base, 
po(5r  boy,  how  he  had  been  hanged  and  quartered 
the  day  after. 

"  They  dared  not  torture  Felton  a  few  years  since 
for  the  murder  of  Buckingham,"  my  Father  said, 
"  and  now  they  twist  this  boy's  offence  into  treason, 
because,  forsooth,  a  dram  chanced  to  be  sounded  by 
the  mob,  that  the  poor  misguided  lad  may  suffer 
the  traitor's  doom,  and  the  honour  of  his  Holiness, 
their  Pontifex  Maximus,  their  Archangel,  as  they 
call  him,  be  avenged." 

(These  were  the  things  that  silenced  the  plead- 
ings of  pity  in  good  and  merciful  men  when,  in 
after  years,  the  Archbishop  was  brought  to  the 
scaffold. 

]S"ow  that  the  crime  and'  its  avenging  all  are  past, 
and  victim,  slayer,  avenger,  all  have  met  before  the 
great  Bar,  it  is  hard  to  recall  the  passion  of  indig- 
nation these  deeds  awakened  in  the  gentlest  hearts 
when  they  were  being  done  with  little  chance  of 
ever  being  avenged.  But  is  not  the  most  inflexible 
judgment  the  offspring  of  outraged  mercy  ?) 

All  through  that  summer  the  king,  the  archbishop, 
and  Strafford  went  on  accumulating  wrongs  on  the 
nation,  too  surely  to  recoil  on  themselves. 

There  may  have  been  many  tyrannies  more  terri- 
ble. Never  could  there  have  been  one  more  irri- 
tating, more  ingenious  in  sowing  discontents  in 
every  corner  of  the  land. 

The  archbishop  in  convocation  made  a  new  canon, 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


123 


requiring  every  clergyman  and  every  graduate  of 
the  universities  to  take  an  oath  that  all  things 
necessary  to  salvation  were  contained  in  the  doc- 
trine and  discipline  of  the  Church  of  -England,  as 
distinguished  from  Prosbyterianism  and  Papistry. 

I  remember  that  canon  especially,  because  it 
brought  Roger  home  from  Oxford,  where  he  had 
been  studying  during  the  past  two  years,  and  was 
about  to  take  his  degree,  and  led  to  results,  sad  in- 
deed for  us,  though  not  exactly  among  the  miseries 
to  be  set  down  to  the  archbishop.  Roger  would 
not  swear,  he  said,  against  the  religion  of  half  the 
kingdom,  at  least  without  understanding  it  better. 

From  Northamptonshire,  Kent,  Devonshire, — old 
conservative  Kent  and  the  loyal  West, — came  iip 
indignant  petitions  against  this  canon.  London  was 
■  exasperated  by  the  committal  of  four  aldermen  who 
refused  to  set  before  the  king  the  names  of  those 
persons  within  their  waixls  Avho  were  able  to  lend 
his  majesty  money  ;  every  borough  in  the  kingdom 
was  aroused  by  the  2)resenc.e  of  its  members  ignomin- 
iously  dismissed  from  the  dissolved  Parliament ; 
nine  boroughs  were  still  more  deeply  moved  by  the 
absence  of  their  members,  imprisoned  the  day  after 
the  dissolution  in  the  Tower.  Every  day  brought 
reports  of  some  fresh  victim  fined  in  the  Star- 
Chamber  on  account  of  the  odious  ship-money. 
Especial  complaints  came  from  the  North,  which 
Strafford  was  grinding  with  the  steady  pressure  of 
his  presence  in  the  council  at  York. 

And  meantime  the  friendly  Scots  were  pi'actically 


124 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


inculcating  Presbyterianism  and  the  advantages  of 
armed  resistance  in  the  four  counties  beyond  the 
Tees,  where  they  had  been  left  in  possession  until 
they  received  the  price  wherewith  the  king  had  paid 
them  for  rebellion. 

There  was  much  stir  and  movement  in  the  land  all 
through  those  months.  Netherby  lay  close  to  the 
high  road,  and  we  had  many  visitors.  Mr.  Cromwell 
once,  on  his  way  to  Cambridge  (for  which  place  he 
then  sate  in  Parliament),  brief  in  speech  and  to  the 
point,  hearty  in  look,  and  word,  and  gesture,  and  also 
at  times  in  laughter.  Mr.  Hampden,  dignified  and 
courtly  as  any  nobleman  of  the  king's  court.  Mr. 
Pym,  with  firm,  close-set  lips  and  grave  eyes.  He^ 
came  more  than  once  on  horseback,  and  put  up  for 
the  night,  on  one  of  the  many  rides  he  took  at  that 
time  around  the  country  to  stir  up  the  patriots  to 
act  together.  My  father  also  was  often  absent  at- 
tending meetings  of  the  country  party  at  Broughton 
Hall,  the  Lord  Brooks'  mansion,  near  Oxford,  where 
Roger,  being  at  the  university,  sometimes  met  him. 

So  the  summer  passed  on,  its  perishable  things 
fading,  and  its  enduring  things  ripening  into  autumn. 
Crop  after  crop  of  royal  promises  budded  and 
bloomed  and  bore  no  fruit,  until  the  people  grew 
sorrowfully  to  understand  that  royal  words,  like 
flowers  cultivated  into  barrenness  in  royal  gardens, 
were  never  purposed  to  bear  fruit,  but  only  to  at- 
tract with  empty  show  of  blossom.  The  nobles 
petitioned  for  a  Parliament ;  ten  thousand  citizens 
of  London,  in  spite  of  threats,  petitioned  for  parlia- 
ment J  and  at  last  once  more  the  king  summoned  it. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


123 


A  month  afterwards,  early  in  December,  my  Father 
called  the  household  around  the  great  hall  fire  to  hear 
a  letter  from  Dr.  Antony  : 

"  To  my  very  loving  friend^ 

"  Roger  Drayton,  Esq., 

"  November  28lh. 
"  Present  these. 

"  Honoured  Sie, — Let  us  rejoice  and  praise  God 
together.  My  occupation  is  gone.  The  prisons  bid 
fair  to  be  cleared  of  all  save  their  rightful  tenants. 
Parish  after  parish  will  welcome  back  faithful  minis- 
ters, undone  and  imprisoned  by  Star-Chamber  and 
High  Commission.  Heaven  send  that  prison  and  per- 
secution have  made  their  voices  strong  and  gentle, 
and  not  bitter  and  shrill ;  for  I  have  found  the  devil 
not  locked  out  by  prison-bolts.  And  too  surely  also 
he  will  find  his  way  into  triumphal  processions  such 
as  we  have  had  in  London  to-day,  on  behalf  of 
Mistress  Olive's  old  friends,  Mr.  Piynne,  Mr.  Bast- 
wick,  and  Mr.  Burton.  But  let  me  set  my  narrative 
in  order. 

"  A  fortnight  before  the  Parliament  was  opened 
two  thousand  rioters  had  torn  down  the  benches  in 
St.  Paul's,  where  the  cruel  High  Commission  were 
sitting,  shouting  that  they  would  have  no  bishop, 
no  High  Commission.  Now  these  disorders  cease. 
Once  more  the  gag  is  off  the  lips  of  every  borough 
and  county  in  Old  England ;  and  the  bitter  helpless 
moans  and  wild  inarticulate  cries  which  have  vainly 
filled  the  land  these  eleven  years  give  place  to  calm 
and  temperate  speech.  Petitions  and  remonstrances 
11* 


1 26  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

pour  in  from  north,  south,  east  and  west ;  some 
brought  by  troops  of  horsemen.  The  calmest  voices 
are  heard  more  clearly. 

"  '  lie  is  a  great  stranger  in  Israel,'  said  Lord 
Falkland, '  who  knoweth  not  that  this  kingdom  hath 
long  laboured  under  great  oppression  both  in  reli- 
gion and  liberty.  Under  pretence  of  uniformity 
they  have  brought  in  superstition  and  scandal ; 
under  the  titles  of  reverence  and  decency  they  have 
defiled  our  Church  by  adorning  our  churches.  They 
have  made  the  conforming  to  ceremonies  more  im- 
portant than  the  conforming  to  Chistianity.' 

"  Said  Sir  Edward  Deering,  in  attacking  the  High 
Commission  Court, — 

" '  A  Pope  at  Rome  will  do  me  less  hurt  thaii  a 
patriarch  at  Lambeth.' 

"Said  Sir  Benjamin  Rudyard, — 

" '  "We  have  seen  ministers,  their  v^^ives,  and  fa- 
milies, undone  against  law,  against  conscience,  about 
not  dancing  on  Sundays.  They  have  brought  it  so 
to  pass,  that  under  the  name  of  Puritans  all  our 
religion  is  branded.  Whosoever  squares  his  actions 
by  any  rule  divine  or  human,  he  is  a  Puritan ; 
whosoever  would  be  governed  by  the  king's  laws, 
he  is  a  Puritan  ;  he  that  will  not  do  whatsoever 
other  men  will  have  him  do,  he  is  a  Puritan.' 

"The  Commons  had  not  sate  four  days  when,  on 
the  Vth  of  November,  by  warrant  of  the  house,  they 
sent  for  Mr.  Pryne,  Mr.  Bastwick,  and  Mr.  Burton, 
from  their  prisons  beyond  the  seas,  to  certify  by 
whose  authority  they  had  been  mutilated,  branded, 
and  impi"isoiied. 


THE  DA  VEX  A  NTS. 


127 


"  And  now  ui'ter  three  Aveeks  these  three  gentle- 
men, fi-eed  from  their  sea-washed  dungeons  in  Jersey, 
Guernsey,  and  the  Scilly  Islands,  have  this  day  ar- 
rived in  the  city.  All  the  way  from  the  coast  they 
have  been  eargerly  welcomed,  escorted  by  troops 
of  friends  Avith  songs  and  gaidands,  from  town  to 
town. 

"  Five  thousand  citizens  of  condition  rode  fori  h 
on  horseback  to  meet  them,  among  them  many  a 
citizen's  wife,  and  all  with  bay  and  rosemary  in 
their  hats  and  caps,  to  do  honour  to  those  their 
enemies  had  A^ainly  sought  to  shame.  I  tro  fr  brave 
Mrs.  Bastwiclc,  who  stood  tearless  by  her  husband 
at  the  pillory,  and  who  hath  not  been  suifered  to  see 
him  in  his  prison  since,  thought  it  no  shame  to 
unman  him  by  shedding  tears  of  joy  to-day.  Old 
gray-haired  Mr.  Leighton,  moreover,  bent  with  im- 
prisonment and  torture,  and  young  John  Lilburn, 
for  whom  Mr.  Cromwell  so  fervently  pleaded,  were 
there  to  share  the  triumph,  all  marked  with  honour- 
able scars  from  the  Star-Chamber.  This  outside  the 
city.  And  within,  at  Westminister,  another  victory 
— not  a  triumph  but  a  victory — not  festive,  but 
solemn  and  tragical,  as  victories  on  battle-fields  are 
wont  to  be. 

"  This  day  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Peers,  about 
three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Pym,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  Commons  of  England,  impeached 
Thomas,  Earl  of  Strafford,  of  high  treason.  And 
this  night  Lord  Strafford  lodges  in  the  Tower. 

"  He  is  too  stately  a  cedar  that  there  should  not 
be  something  great  in  his  fall. 


1 28  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

"  Scorning  the  Commons'  message,  with  a  proud- 
glooming  countenance  the  earl  made  towards  his 
place  at  the  head  of  the  board.  But  at  once  many- 
bade  him  void  the  house.  Sullenly  he  had  to  move 
to  the  door  till  he  was  called.  There  he,  at  whose 
door  so  many  vainly  waited,  had  to  wait  till  he  was 
summoned.  Loftily  he  stood  to  hear  the  sentence 
of  the  House.  He  was  commanded  to  kneel,  and  on 
his  knees  he  was  committed  prisoner  to  the  Keeper 
of  the  Black  Rod.  He  would  have  spoken,  but  he 
who  had  silenced  England  for  eleven  yeai-s  was 
sternly  silenced  now,  and  had  to  go  without  a  word. 
In  the  outer  room  they  demanded  his  sword.  The 
carl  cried  to  his  serving-man  Avith  a  loud' voice  to 
take  my  Lord-Lieutenant's  sword.  A  crowd  throng- 
ed the  doors  of  the  House  as  he  stepped  out  to  his 
coach.  No  fellow  capped  to  him  before  whom 
yesterday  not  a  noble  in  England  would  have  stood 
uncovered  with  impunity.  One  cried  to  another, 
*  What  is  the  matter  ?'  '  A  small  matter,  I  warrant 
you,'  quoth  the  earl.  Coming  to  where  he  had  left 
his  coach  he  found  it  not,  and  had  to  walk  back 
again  through  the  gazing,  gaping  crowd.  He  was 
not  suffered  to  enter  his  own  coach,  but  was  carried 
away  a  prisoner  in  that  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Black 
Rod. 

"  And  this  night  he  lodges — scarce,  I  trow,  rests 
or  sleeps — in  the  Tower.  Will  the  memory  of  his 
old  companion  in  the  days  before  he  turned  traitor 
to  England  and  liberty,  our  noble  murdered  patriot 
Eliot,  haunt  his  memory  there  ?  From  his  ghost  the 
earl  is  safe  enough.     Such  ghosts  are  in  other  keep- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


129 


ing  and  other  company.  And  for  the  earl's  memory^ 
darker  recollections  than  that  of  Eliot  with  all  his 
wrongs  may  well  haunt  it,  if  report  speaks  truth ; 
recollections  which  the  Old  Tower  itself,  with  all 
its  chambers  of  death,  can  scai-ce  outgloom. 

"  But  Lord  Strafford  is  not  a  man  to  dream  while 
there  is  work  to  be  done,  or  to  look  back  when  life 
may  liang  on  his  wisdom  in  looking  forward, 

"  The  first  stroke  is  struck,  but  the  cedar  is  not 
felled  yet.  Nor  can  any  surmise  Avhat  it  may  bring 
down  with  it  if  it  falls. 

"  Your  faithful  servant  and  loving  friend. 

"Leonaed  Antony. 

"  Roger  will  like  to  hear  that  his  friend  Mr.  Crom- 
well presented  the  petition  for  poor  John  Lilburn, 
(some  time  writer  for  Mr.  Prynne)  that  was  scourg- 
ed from  Westminster  to  the  Fleet  prison.  And 
also  that  he  hath  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of 
certain  poor  countrymen  whom  he  knows  near  St. 
Ives,  robbed  of  tlieir  ancient  pasture-rights  on  a 
common  tyrannously  enclosed  by  one  of  the  queen's 
servants. 

"  Mr.  Cromwell  seemed  to  take  thes«  poor  men's 
wrongs  sorely  to  heart,  and  spoke  with  a  flushed 
face  and  much  vehement  eloquence  concerning  them, 
in  a  voice  which  certain  courtiers  thought  loud  and 
untunable,  clad  in  a  coat  and  band  they  thought 
unhandsome  and  made  by  an  '  ill  coimtry-tailor,'  and 
in  a  hat  without  a  hatband.  But  the  Parliament 
hearkened  to  him  with  much  regaixl,  and  gave  great 
heed  to  what  he  counselled."  -:^^;^.^ 

Roger's  eye  kindled. 


1 3  o  THE  BRA  YTONS  A  ND 

"  Mr.  Cromwell  will  never  forget  the  old  frieiula 
for  the  new,"  said  my  Father,  "  nor  pass  by  little 
duties  in  hurrying  to  great  ends." 

Then  our  household  broke  into  twos  and  threes 
debating  the  news. 

Aunt  Dorothy  shook  her  head.  "I  do  mourn 
over  it,"  said  she.  "  Mr.  Cromwell  might  do  great 
things.  And  here  are  the  Church  and  State  all  on 
fire,  and  the  Almighty  sending  His  lightnings  on 
the  cedars  of  Lebanon  and  the  oaks  of  Bashan,  while 
Mr.  Cromwell  keeps  harping  on  these  petty  worldly 
things ;  on  the  wrongs  of  an  insignificant  servant 
of  Mr.  Prynne's,  Avhich  no  doubt  would  get  set 
right  of  themselves  when  once  the  great  battle  is 
fought ;  and  on  whether  some  poor  clodpoles  near 
St.  Ives  get  a  few  acres  more  or  less  to  feed  their 
sheep  on.  And,  meanwhile,  the  sheep  of  the  Lord's 
pasture  wandering  on  the  mountains  without  pas- 
ture or  shepherd !  I  do  think  it  a  pity,  too,  that 
Mr.  Cromwell  does  not  change  his  tailor ;  we  ought 
to  pi'ovide  things  honest  in  the  sight  of  all  men. 
Not  but  that  I  will  say,"  she  concluded,  "Mrs. 
Cromwell  and  the  maidens  might  take  some  of 
these  matters  on  herself." 

I  remember  that  night  asking  Aunt  Gretel  if  she 
thought  it  would  be  wrong  to  jDut  Earl  StraiTord's 
name  into  my  prayers.  He  was  not  exactly  an  en- 
emy of  mine,  or  there  would  be  a  command  to  do  so ; 
and  he  certainly  was  not  a  friend,  nor,  now,  any 
longer  "  one  in  authority."     But  it  went  to   my 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  \  3 1 

heart  to  tliink  how  in  a  moment  all  his  glory  seemed 
turned  to  dishonor,  the  crowd  gaping  on  him,  and 
no  man  capping  to  him, 

"  What  vrouldst  thou  pray  for,  Olive  ?"  said  Aunt 
GreteL  "  Certainly  not  that  he  may  have  power 
again,  and  set  up  the  Star-Chamber,  and  send  the 
three  gentlemen  to  the  pillory  once  more." 

"Would  he  do  that  if  he  got  out  of  the  Tower?" 
said  L 

"  The  wise  and  good  men  think  so,  or  they  would 
not  have  him  sent  there,"  said  she. 

"  But  might  he  not  be  better  always  afterwards  ?" 
T  asked. 

"  The  people  cannot  trust  that  he  would,"  she 
said.  "  Even  if  he  pa-omised  ever  so  much  and  in- 
tended it,  they  could  not  at  once  trust  him," 

"  Is  it  too  late  then  for  him  to  be  forgiven  ?"  I 
Baid. 

"  Too  late,  it  seems,  for  men  to  forgive  him,"  said 
she,  very  gravely. 

"  But  never  too  late  for  God  ?"  I  said. 
"  Xo,  never  too  late  for  God,"  said  she,  slowly. 
"  Because  God  knows  when  we  really  intend  to  give 
up  sinning,  even  when  we  can  do  nothing  to  show 
it  to  men.  So  it  is  never  too  late  for  Him  to  take 
His  prodigals  home  to  his  bosom," 

"  Then  I  can  ask  for  that,"  said  I.  And  I  did. 
But  that  night  there  sank  down  on  my  heart  for 
the  first  time  (the  first  time  of  so  many  in  the  sol- 
emn years  that  followed)  the  terrible  words,  "  Too 
late ;''"'  the  terrible  sense  that  an  hour  may  come 
when,  if  repentance  towards  God  k  still  possible, 


132 


THE  DEA  YTONS  AND 


reparation  to  man  and  mercy  from  man  are  possible 
no  longer. 

This  fervour  of  jiatnotic  life  which  animated  us 
all  at  Netherby  made  us  rather  hard,  I  am  afraid, 
on  Cousin  Placidia. 

Throughout  the  year,  after  our  sojourn  at  Dave- 
nant  Hall,  she  had  tned  Roger  and  me  (and  I  be- 
lieve also  secretly  Aunt  Dorothy)  very  seriously  by 
becoming  in  her  way  exceedingly  religious.  One 
winter  morning  when  Roger  and  I  were  busy  with 
my  father  about  our  Italian  lessons  at  one  end  of 
the  hall,  the  following  discussion  took  place  be- 
tween Placidia  and  Aunt  Dorothy  over  their  spin- 
ning near  the  hearth.  Placidia  had  seen,  she  in- 
formed Aunt  Dorothy,  the  vanity  of  all  things  un- 
der the  sun,  the  folly  of  pride,  and  the  Avickedness 
of  all  worldly  pomp,  and  she  wished  decidedly  to 
take  her  place  "  on  the  Lord's  side,"  to  work  out 
betimes  her  own  salvation,  and  to  secure  for  herself 
an  abundant"  entrance  into  the  kingdom.  Aunt 
Dorothy  spoke  of  the  heart  being  deceitful,  and 
hoped  Placidia  would  make  sure  of  her  foundation. 
Placidia  rejoined  with  some  slight  resentment  as  to 
any  doubts  of  her  orthodoxy,  that  she  humbly  trust- 
ed she  knew  as  well  as  any  one,  that  every  one'^s  heart 
was  indeed  deceitful  above  all  things  and  despe- 
rately wicked,  that  is,  every  ungodly  person's ;  indeed 
one  only  needed  to  look  around  in  any  direction  to  see 
it.  Aunt  Dorothy  replied  that,  for  her  part,  she 
found  her  oion  heart  still  very  ingenious  in  deceiving 
iier,  and  in  need-  of  a  great  deal  of  daily  watching. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


133 


Placidia  admitted  the  necessity.  Indeed,  slio 
Baid,  that  on  a  review  of  her  life  she  felt  that,  al- 
though  she  had  been  mercifully  preserved  from 
many  infirmities  which  beset  other  people,  (her  tem- 
per being  naturally  even,  and  her  tastes  sober,)  still 
no  doubt  she  shai-ed  in  the  imiversal  depravity. 
But  she  had,  like  Jacob  at  Bethel,  she  said,  made 
a  solemn  covenant  with  God,  promising  to  give  Him 
henceforth  His  due  portion  of  her  affections  and  sub- 
stance ;  she  had  signed  and  sealed  it  on  her  knees, 
and  she  believed  she  was  accepted,  that  she  was  on 
the  Lord's  side,  and  that,  as  with  Jacob,  He  would 
henceforth  be  on  hers. 

Aunt  Dorothy's  spinning-wheel  flew  with  omin- 
ous rapidity,  but  some  moments  passed  before  she 
replied.     Then  she  said, — 

*'  My  dear,  I  trust  that  you  know  the  difference 
between  a  covenant  and  a  bargain.  The  patriarch 
Jacob,  on  the  whole,  no  doubt  meant  well,  but  I 
never  much  liked  his  'ifs'  and  'thens'  with  the  Al- 
mighty. The  best  kind  of  covenants,  I  think,  are 
those  which  begin  on  the  other  side.  As  when  the 
Lord  said  to  Abraham,  '  Fear  not,  Abraham,  I  am 
thy  shield  and  thy  exceeding  great  rewai-d.'  Or, 
'  I  am  the  Almighty  God,  walk  before  me  and  be 
thou  perfect.'  Then  follow  the  promises,  lavish  as 
His  riches,  which  fill  heaven  and  earth ;  free  as  the 
air  He  gives  us  to  breathe.  When  God  gives  there 
is  no  limit,  no  reserve,  no  condition.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  neither  is  there  reserve,  or  condition,  or 
limit  when  He  demands.  It  is  not  so  miich  for  so 
much,  but  all  surrendered  in  absolute  trust.  It  is, 
12 


»3f 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


'  Be  thou  perfect ;'  it  is,  '  Leave  thy  country,  and 
thy  kindred,  and  thy  father's  house ;'  it  is,  '  Give 
ine  thy  son,  thine  only  son  Isaac,  whom  thou  lovest.' 
Is  this  what  you  mean  by  a  covenant  with  God  ? 
Think  well,  for  He  '  is  not  mocked.'  His  hand  is 
larger  than  ours,  as  the  sea  is  larger  than  a  drink- 
ing-cup;  but  He  will  not  accept  our  hands  half 
full." 

Said  Placidia, — 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of 
being  half  for  the  world  and  half  for  God.  I  have 
no  opinion  at  all  of  the  religion  which  can  dance 
round  May-poles  on  the  week-day,  and  attend  the 
worshij)  of  God  on  Sundays ;  or  fast  and  pray  on 
Fridays,  wear  mourning  in  Lent,  and  be  decked  out 
in  curls,  and  laces,  and  jewels,  on  feast-days.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  never  to  wear  a  feather,  or 
a  trinket,  or  a  bit  of  lace  to  my  band,  or  a  laced 
stomacher,  nor  to  use  crisping-tongs,  nor  to  indulge 
in  any  kind  of  '  dissoluteness  in  hair,'  nor  ever  to 
sport  any  gayer  colour  in  mantle  or  wimple  than 
gray,  or  at  the  most  '  liver  colour.'  I  have  not  the 
least  intention.  Aunt  Dorothy,  of  trying  to  serve 
two  masters.  I  know  in  that  way  we  gain  nothing. 
But  I  do  believe  that  those  that  honour  Him  He 
will  honour,  and  that  godliness  hath  promise  of 
the  life  that  now  is  as  well  as  of  that  which  is  to 
come." 

"The  Lord's  honours  are  not  often  like  King 
Ahasuerus's,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  gravely ;  "  the 
Crowns  of  those  He  delighted  to  honour  have  some- 
times been  of  fire,  and  their  royal  apparel  of  sack- 


THE  DA  VE^^A  NTS.  1 3  5 

cloth.  There  is  such  a  thing,"  she  continued,  her 
wheel  whirling  like  a  whirlwind,  "  as  serving  onhj 
one  master,  yet  that  not  the  right  one,  though  taking 
His  name.  And  we  are  near  the  brink  of  that  pre- 
cipice whenever  we  seek  any  reward  from  the  Mas- 
ter beyond  His  'Well  done.'  '/am  thy  shield,'" 
she  concluded,  " '  /,  the  Lord  Himself ;'  not  what 
He  promises  or  what  He  gives,  though  it  were  to 
be  the  half  of  His  kingdom," 

By  this  time  my  Father's  attention  had  been 
aroused  to  the  discussion,  and  rising  from  the  table 
and  approaching  the  spinners,  he  said, — 

"  What  you  say,  sister  Dorothy,  reminds  me  of 
some  words  I  heard  lately  in  a  letter  of  Mr.  Crom- 
well's. '  Truly  no  creature  hath  more  cause,'  he 
wrote,  'to  put  himself  forth  in  the  cause  of  his  God 
than  I.  I  have  had  plentiful  wages  beforehand, 
and  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  earn  the  least  mite.' " 

"Yea,  verily,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "Mr.  Crom- 
well may  waste  too  mucli  thought  on  draining  and 
dyking ;  but  he  is  a  godly  gentleman,  and  he  under 
stands  the  Covenant." 

Cousin  Placidia,  however,  pursued  her  course, 
and  continued  a  living  rebuke  to  Roger  and  me  if 
we  indulged  in  too  noisy  merriment,  and  to  any  of 
the  maids  w^ho  Avere  tempted  into  a  gayer  kirtle  or 
ribbon  than  ordinary.  On  Sunday  she  was  never 
known  to  smile,  nor  on  any  other  day  to  laugh,  ex- 
cept in  a  mild  moderate  manner,  as  a  polite  con- 
cession to  any  one  who  expected  it  in  response  to  a 
facetious  remark. 

Her  conversation  meantime  became  remarkably 


1 3  6  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

scriptural.  She  did  not  allow  herself  an  indulgence 
which  she  did  not  justify  by  a  text ;  if  her  dresses 
wore  longer  than  usual,  so  as  to  spare  her  purse, 
she  looked  on  it  as  a  proof  that  she  had  been  mai-- 
vellously  helped  with  wisdom  in  the  choice.  If  she 
escaped  the  various  accidents  which  not  unfrequent- 
ly  brought  me  into  disgrace,  and  my  clothes  to  pre- 
mature ruin,  she  regarded  it  as  an  interference  of 
Providence,  like  to  that  which  watched  over  the 
Israelites  in  the  wilderness. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  to  Roger  and  me  that  Placidia's 
primary  meaning  of  being  "  on  the  Lord's  side  " 
was,  that  in  a  general  way  the  Almighty  should  do 
what  she  liked ;  and  that  in  particular  the  weather 
should  be  arranged  with  considerate  reference  as  to 
whether  she  had  on  her  new  taffetas  or  her  old 
woolsey.  Great  therefore  was  our  relief,  although 
great  also  our  astonishment,  when  Aunt  Dorothy 
announced  to  us  one  day  that  Cousin  Placidia  was 
about  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Nicholls,  the  vicar  of 
Netherby. 

"  Are  you  not  surprised  ?"  I  ventured  to  ask  of 
my  Father.  "  Cousin  Placidia  is  such  a  Precisian, 
as  they  call  it,  and  Mr.  Nicholls  thinks  so  much  of 
Archbishop  Laud." 

"  Not  much  surprised,  Olive,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
Placidia's  religion  and  Mr.  Nicholls'  are  a  little  alike. 
Both  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  colour  and 
shape  of  clothes,  and  with  the  places  and  times  at 
which  things  are  done,  and  the  way  in  which  they 
are  said.  And  both  are  prudent  persons,  desirous 
of  taking  a  respectable  place  in  the  world  in  a  re- 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  \  37 

ligious  way.  I  should  think  they  would  agree  very 
well." 

Aunt  Dorothy  was  at  once  indignant  and  con- 
soled. 

"I  never  quite  trusted  Placidia's  professions," 
said  she ;  "  but  this,  I  confess,  goes  beyond  my 
fears.  A  person  who  never  passes  what  he  calls 
the  altar  without  making  obeisances  such  as  the 
old  heathens  made  to  the  sun  and  the  moon,  and 
who,  not  six  months  ago,  defiled  the  house  of  God 
with  Popish  incense !" 

But  Cousin  Placidia  had  explanations  which  were 
quite  satisfactory  to  herself. 

"  She  had  had  so  many  providential  intimations," 
she  said  (one  of  the  habits  of  Placidia  that  always 
most  exasperated  Roger  was  her  way  of  always  doing 
what  she  wished,  because,  she  said,  some  one  else 
wished  it ;  and  since  she  had  become  religious,  she 
usually  threw  the  responsibility  on  the  Highest 
Quarter) — "  intimations  so  plain,  that  she  could  not 
disregard  them  without  disobedience.  Mr.  Nicholls' 
coming  to  Netherby  at  all  was  the  consequence  of 
a  series  of  most  remarkable  circumstances,  entirely 
beyond  his  own  control.  The  way  in  which  the 
prejudice  against  each  other,  with  which  they  be- 
gan, had  by  degrees  changed  into  esteem,  and  then 
into  something  more,  was  also  very  remarkable. 
And  what  was  most  remarkable  of  all  was,  that  on 
the  very  morning  of  the  day  when  he  proposed  to 
her,  she  had — quite  by  chance,  as  it  might  seem, 
but  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  chance — open- 
ed the  Bible  on  the  passage, '  Get  thee  out  from  thy 
12* 


1 3  8  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

country,  and  from  thy  kindred,  and  from  thy  father's 
hoiase,  into  a  land  that  I  will  shew  thee :  and  I  will 
bless  thee,'  " 

"  But,  my  dear,"  remarked  Aunt  Gretel,  to  whom, 
Aunt  Dorothy  being  unapproachable,  Placidia  had 
made  this  explanation — "  my  dear,  you  are  ho/ going 
to  leave  your  country,  are  you  ?  and  you  do  know 
the  land  to  which  you  are  going." 

"Of  course,"  said  Placidia,  "there  are  always 
differences.  But  the  application  was  cei'toinly  very 
remarkable.  Mr.  Nicholls  quite  agreed  with  me, 
when  I  told  him  of  it." 

"  ISTo  doubt,  my  dear,  no  doubt,"  said  Aunt  Gre- 
tel, retreating.  "  But  there  does  seem  a  little  dif- 
ference in  your  opinions." 

"Uncle  Drayton  says  we  should  look  on  the 
things  in  which  we  agree,  more  than  on  those  in 
which  we  differ,"  said  Placidia.  "  Besides,  if  Aunt 
Dorothy  would  only  see  it,  I  really  trust  I  have 
been  already  useful  to  Mr.  Nicholls.  He  said,  only 
yesterday,  he  thought  there  was  a  good  deal  to  be 
said  in  favour  of  some  late  ordinances  of  the  Parlia- 
ment against  too  close  approach  to  Papistical  cere- 
monies. Mr.  Nicholls  had  never  any  propension 
towards  the  Pope ;  and  he  thinks  now  that,  it  may 
be,  his  canonical  obedience  to  Archbishop  Laud  led 
him  to  some  unwise  compliances.  But  the  powers 
that  be,  he  says,  must  always  have  their  due  honour. 
The  great  point  is,  to  ascertain  which  powers  be, 
-and  which  only  seem  to  be.  And  now  that  the 
Parliament  has  impeached  Archbishop  Laud,  and 
gent  him  to  the  Tower,  this  is  really  an  exceedingly 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


139 


difficult  question  foi"  a  conscientious  clergjTnan,  who 
is  also  a  good  subject,  to  determine." 

Aunt  Gretel  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  she  being 
always  in  fear  of  losing  lier  w^ay,  and  straying  into 
wildernesses,  when  English  j:»olitics  or  rubrics  came 
into  question. 

And  in  due  time  Placidia  became  JMistress  Nich- 
olls,  and  removed  to  the  parsonage,  with  a  generous 
dowry  from  my  Father,  and  everything  that  by  the 
most  liberal  interpretation  could  in  any  way  be 
construed  into  belonging  to  her,  down  to  a  pair  of 
perfumed  Cordova  gloves  which  had  been  given  her 
by  some  gay  kinswoman,  and,  having  been  thrown 
aside  in  a  closet  as  useless  vanities,  cost  Aunt 
Dorothy  a  long  and  indignant  search.  Everything 
might  be  of  use,  said  Placidia,  in  their  humble 
housekeeping.  And  she  had  always  remembered  a 
saying  she  had  once  heard  Aunt  Gretel  quote  from 
Dr.  Luther, — "that  what  the  husband  makes  by 
earning,  the  wife  multiplies  by  sparing." 

"  An  invaluable  maxim,"  she  remarked, "  for  peo- 
ple in  narrov/  circumstances,  who  had  married  from 
pure  godly  aifection,  without  passion  or  ambition, 
despising  all  worldly  considerations,  like  herself 
and  Mr.  Nicholls." 

It  was  a  strange  Christmas  to  many  in  England, 
that  first  in  the  stormy  life  of  the  Long  Parliament. 
Earl  Strafford  had  been  in  the  Tower  since  the  28th 
of  November.  A  week  before  Christmas  day  Arch- 
bishop Laud  had  been  impeached  and  committed  to 
custody.     There  was  no  thought  of  the  Parliament 


,.o  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

dispersing.  Mr.  Pym  and  others  of  the  patriot 
members  were  occupied  Avith  preparing  for  Lord 
Strafford's  trial,  which  did  not  begin  until  the  22nd 
of  the  following  >Ifirch. 

On  the  other  hand,  faithful  voices,  long  silent  in 
prisons,  were  heard  again  in  many  pulpits  through- 
out the  land. 

Judge  Berkeley,  who  had  given  the  unjust  decis- 
ion in  favour  of  ship-money,  was  seized  on  the 
bench  in  his  ermine,  and  taken  to  prison  like  a  com- 
mon felon. 

The  great  thunder-cloud  of  Star-chamber  and 
High  Commission  Court  had  dispersed.  The  Puri- 
tans and  Patriots  breathed  once  more,  and  the  great 
voice  of  the  nation,  speaking  at  Westminster  tho 
words  which  were  deeds,  while  it  quieted  the  cries 
and  groans  of  the  oppressed  country,  set  men's 
tongues  free  for  earnest  and  determined  speech  by 
every  hall  hearth,  and  every  blacksmith's  forge, 
and  ale-house,  and  village-green,  and  place  of  public 
or  social  talk  throughout  the  country. 

The  blacksmith's  forge  in  Netherby  village  was 
indeed  a  place  well  known  to  Roger  and  rile.  Job 
Forster,  the  smith,  a  brave,  simple-hearted  giant 
from  Cornwall  (given  to  despising  our  inland  peas- 
ants, who  had  never  seen  the  sea,  and  suspected  of 
being  the  mainstay  of  a  little  band  of  sectaries  in 
the  neighborhood),  having  always  been  Roger's 
chief  friend ;  while  Rachel,  his  gentle,  sickly,  saint- 
ly little  wife  (whom  he  cherished  with  a  kind  of 
timorous  tenderness,  like  something  almost  too 
small  and  delicate  for  him  to  meddle  with),  had 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


141 


always  given  me  the  child's  place  in  her  motherly- 
heart,  which  no  cliild  had  heen  given  to  their  house 
to  fill.  Whenever  we  were  missed  in  childhood,  it 
was  commonly  at  Job  Forster's  forge  we  were 
sought  and  found.  And  by  this  means  we  learned 
a  great  deal  of  politics  from  Job's  point  of  view,  as 
well  as  many  marvellous  stories  of  God's  provi- 
dence by  sea  and  land,  which  seemed  to  us  to  show 
that  God  was  as  near  to  those  who  trust  Him  now, 
as  to  the  Israelites  of  old,  which,  also.  Job  and  Ra- 
chel most  surely  believed. 

But,  meantime,  while  the  clouds  over  England 
seemed  scattering,  a  heavy  cloud  gathered  over  us 
at  Netherby. 

The  Davenant  family  had  come  to  the  Hall  for 
the  Christmas  festivities.  We  met  often  during  the 
time  they  were  there,  more  than  ever  before.  The 
ties  of  friendship  and  of  neighbourhood  seemed  to 
prevail  over  the  party  strife  which  had  so  long  kept 
us  apart. 

Hope  there  was  also  that  those  party  conflicts  at 
last  might  cease  with  the  disgrace  of  the  hated  Lord- 
Lieutenant. 

His  sudden  abandonment  of  the  patriot  side,  his 
rapid  rise,  and  his  lofty,  imperious  temper,  had  not 
failed  to  make  enemies  even  among  those  of  his 
own  jiarty.  Sir  Walter  Davenant  said  he  had  no 
liking  for  turn-coats.  They  always  over-acted  their 
new  part,  and  commonly  did  more  to  injure  the 
party  they  joined  than  the  party  they  betrayed. 
The  haughty  earl  once  out  of  the  way,  the  king 
would  listen  to  truer  men  and  better  servants. 


142 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


The  Lady  Lucy  held  in  detestation  the  earl's  pri- 
vate character.  The  king,  she  said,  was  a  high- 
minded  gentleman,  an  affectionate  husband  and 
father,  his  presence  and  life  had  done  much  to  re- 
form the  coui't ;  the  earl  was  a  man  of  commanding 
ability,  but  his  hands  were  not  pure  enough  to  de- 
fend so  lofty  a  cause.  Better  men,  she  thought,  if 
in  themselves  weaker,  would  yet  form  stronger  stays 
for  the  throne  of  the  anointed  of  God.  If  Lord 
Strafford  were  displaced,  she  thought,  the  best  men 
of  all  parties  would  unite ;  would  understand  each 
other,  would  understand  tlaeir  king,  and  all  might 
yet  go  well.  My  Father,  though  less  sanguine,  was 
not  without  hope,  although  on  rather  different 
grounds.  While  Lady  Lucy  believed  that  Lord 
Strafford's  violence  and  evil  life  were  a  weakness  to 
the  cause  she  deemed  in  itself  sacred,  my  Father 
thought  that  Lord  Strafford's  power  of  character 
and  mind  were  a  fatal  strength  to  the  cause  he 
deemed  in  itself  evil.  The  earl  once  gone,  he  be- 
lieved the  king  would  never  find  such  another  prop 
for  his  arbitrary  measures,  the  lesser  tyrant  would 
tall  like  an  arch  with  the  key-stone  out,  and  the 
king  would  yield,  perforce,  to  the  just  demands  of 
the  nation. 

However,  for  the  time.  Lord  Strafford's  imprison- 
ment formed  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  the  two 
families,  to  Roger's  and  my  great  content.  Much 
friendly  rivalry  there  was  in  the  Christmas  adorn- 
ment of  tlie  two  transepts  with  wreaths  of  ivy  and 
holly,  ending  in  a  free  confession  of  defeat  on  our 
part,  as  our  somewhat  clumsy  bunches  of  evergreen 


THE  BAVENANTS.    .  143 

stood  out  in  contrast  with  the  graceful  -Wreaths  and 
festoons  with  which  Lettice  had  made  the  memory 
of  the  Davenants  green. 

For  a  moment  she  enjoyed  her  triumph,  and  then 
begging  permission  to  make  a  little  change  in  our 
arrangements,  with  that  quick  perception  of  hers, 
and  those  fairy  jBngers  which  never  could  touch 
anything  without  weaving  something  of  their  own 
jrrace  into  it,  in  an  hour  or  two  she  had  made  the 
massive  columns  and  heavy  arches  of  our  ancestral 
chapel  light  and  graceful  as  the  most  decorated 
monument  of  the  Davenants,  with  traceries  of  glos- 
sy leaves  and  berries. 

Lettice's  birthday  was  on  Twelfth  Night.  She 
was  fifteen,  nearly  two  years  younger  than  I  was, 
and  three  than  Roger. 

There  was  great  merry-making  at  the  Hall  that 
day.  In  the  morning  distributings  of  garments  to 
all  the  maidens  in  the  parish  of  Lettice's  age,  by 
her  own  hands.  She  had  some  kindly  or  merry 
word  for  every  one,  and  throughout  the  day  was 
the  soul  of  all  the  festivities.  There  was  such  a  full- 
ness of  life  and  enjoynient  in  her ;  such  a  power  of 
going  out  »f  herself  altogether  into  the  pleasures  or 
wants  of  others.  She  seemed  to  ^ne  the  centre  of 
all,  just  as  the  sun  is,  by  sending  her  sunbeams 
everywhere.  While  every  one  else  was  full  of  the 
thought  of  her,  she  was  full  only  of  shining  into 
every  neglected  corner  and  shy  blossom,  making 
every  one  feel  glad  and  cured  for,  down  to  Gammer 
Grin  die's  idiot  boy. 

It  Avas  a  wonderful  joy  for  me  to  be  Lettice's 


,^^  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

friend.  I  had  almost  as  much  delight  in  her  as  Sir 
Walter,  who  watched  her  with  such  pride,  or  Lady 
Lucy,  whose  eyes  so  oft  moistened  as  they  rested 
on  her.  She  would  have  it  that  Roger  and  I  must 
be  at  her  right  hand  in  everything. 

In  the  afternoon  Harry  Davenant  came  with  Sir 
Launcelot  Trevor.  Harry  looked  rather  grave,  I 
thought,  but  he  was  naturally  that ;  and  Lettice'a 
gaiety  soon  infected  him  so  that  he  became  foremost 
in  the  games,  Avhich  lasted  until  the  sun  went  down, 
and  the  servants  and  villagers  dispersed  to  kindle 
up  the  twelve  bonfires.  But  Sir  Launcelot  looked 
sorely  out  of  temper.  His  heavy  brows  quite  low- 
ered over  his  keen,  dark  eyes,  so  that  they  flashed 
out  beneath  like  the  stormy  light  under  a  thunder 
cloud.  He  scarcely  bent  to  my  Father  or  to  any 
of  us  ;  and  although  he  was  lavish  as  ever  of  com- 
pliments to  Lady  Lucy  and  Lettice,his  brow  scarce- 
ly relaxed  to  correspond  with  the  lip-smiles  with 
which  he  accompanied  them. 

When  the  sun  was  fixirly  set,  the  twelve  fires 
were  kindled,  this  time  on  the  field  in  front  of  the 
Hall,  in  honour  of  Lettice,  instead  of  as  usual  on  the 
village  green.  •■ 

We  waited  to  see  them  kindle  up,  and  then  we 
left.  Roger  stayed  behind  us.  There  was  to  be 
songs  and  dances  round  the  fires,  and  then  feasting 
in  the  Hall  late  into  the  night.  But  Roger  only 
intended  to  remain  a  little  while  to  see  the  merri- 
ment begin. 

I  remember  looking  back  for  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
fires  as  they  leapt  and  sank,  one  moment  lighting 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  j  ^^ 

up  every  battlement  of  the  turrets,  and  all  the  carv- 
ing of  the  windows  with  lurid  light,  and  flashing 
back  from  the  glass  like  carbuncles ;  the  next  sub- 
stituting for  the  reality  their  own  fantastic  light 
and  goblin  shadows,  so  that  not  a  corner  or  gable 
of  the  old  building  looked  like  itself.  And  I  re- 
member afterwards  that  close  by  one  of  the  fires 
were  standing  Roger  and  Lettice,  and  Sir  Launce- 
lot,  near  each  other ;  Roger  piling  wood  on  the  fii*e 
at  Lettice's  direction,  and  Sir  Launcelot  standing  a 
little  apart  with  folded  arms  watching  them.  His 
foce  looked  red  and  angry.  I  thought  it  was  per- 
haps because  of  the  angry  glare  of  the  flames.  Yet 
something  made  me  long  to  turn  back  and  bring 
Roger  away  with  us.  It  was  impossible.  But  in- 
voluntarily I  looked  back  once  more :  the  flames 
leapt  up  at  the  moment,  and  then  I  saw  Sir  Laun- 
celot and  Roger  as  clearly  as  in  daylight,  appa- 
rently in  eager  debate. 

I  lingered  to  watch  them,  but  just  then  the  fitful 
flames  fell,  I  oould  see  no  more,  and  I  had  to  hasten 
on  to  follow  my  Father  and  Aunt  Gretel  home. 

Before  we  reached  home  the  clouds,  which  had 
been  threatening  all  day,  began  to  fall  in  showers 
of  hail.  "We  had  not  been  in  an  hour  when,  as  we 
were  sitting  over  the  hall  fire,  talking  cheerily  over 
the  doings  of  the  day,  Roger  suddenly  entered,  his 
face  ashen-white,  his  eyes  like  burning  coals,  and, 
in  a  low  voice,  called  my  Father  out  to  speak  to 
him  outside.  For  a  few  minutes,  which  seemed  to 
me  hours,  we  sat  in  suspense.  Aunt  Gretel's  knit- 
ting fvUing  on  her  lap,  in  entire  disregard  of  cou- 
13 


146 


THE  DBA  VTONS  AND 


sequence  to  the  stitches — Aunt  Dorothy's  spinning- 
wheel  whirling  as  if  driven  by  the  Furies.  Then 
my  Father  returned  alone,  as  pale  as  Roger, 

He  seated  himself  again,  with  his  arms  on  his 
knees  and  his  hands  over  his  face — an  attitude  I  had 
never  seen  him  in  before.  It  made  him  look  like 
an  old  man ;  and  I  remember  noticing  for  the  first 
that  his  hair  was  growing  gray. 

No  one  asked  any  questions. 

At  length,  in  a  calm,  low  voice,  my  Father 
said, — 

"  Roger  and  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  have  quarrelled. 
Roger  struck  Sir  Launcelot,  and  he  fell  against  one 
of  the  great  logs  of  the  bonfires.  He  is  wounded 
severely,  and  Roger  is  going  to  ride  to  Cambridge 
for  a  physician." 

"  In  such  a  night !"  said  Aunt  Gretel ;  "  not  a 
star;  and  the  hail  has  been  driving  against  the 
panes  this  half  hour !" 

"It  is  the  best  thing  Roger  can  do,"  said  my 
Father,  quietly. 

The  next  minute  wc  heard  the  ring  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  on  the  pavement  of  the  court,  and  then  the 
sound  of  a  long  gallop  dying  slowly  away  on  the 
road  amidst  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  clat- 
tering of  the  hail. 

But  no  one  spoke  until  the  household  were  gath- 
ered for  family  prayer. 

There  was  no  variation  in  the  chapter  read  or  in 
the  usual  words  of  prayer ;  only  a  tremulous  depth 
in  ray  Fatlier's  voice  as  he  asked  for  blessings  on 
the  son  and  dauohtcr  of  the  house. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


H7 


And  afterwards,  as  I  wished  him  good-night,  he 
leant  his  hand  on  my  head,  and  said — 

"  Watch  and  pray,  Olive — watch  and  pray,  my 
child,  lest  ye  enter  into  temptation." 

Then  I  knelt  down,  and  hid  ray  face  on  his  knee, 
and  said — 

"  O  Father,  Roger  must  have  been  sorely  pro- 
voked— I  am  sure  he  was.  I  am  sure  it  was  not 
Roger's  fault — I  am  sure ;  so  sure  !  Sir  Launcelot 
is  so  wicked,  and  I  will  never  forgive  him." 

"  Roger  said  it  ivas  his  fault,  my  poor  little  Olive," 
replied  my  Father,  very  tenderly,  "  and  that  he  will 
never  forgive  himself.  And  whatever  Sir  Launcelot 
said  or  did,  you  must  forgive  him,  and  pray  that 
God  may  forgive  him  ;  for  he  is  very  seriously  hurt, 
and  may  die." 

"  Roger  would  be  sure  to  say  that,"  I  said.  "  He 
is  always  ready  to  blame  himself  and  excuse  every 
one  else.  But,  O  Father,  God  will  not  let  Sir 
Launcelot  die  !     "What  can  we  do  ?" 

"  Pray !  Olive,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice — 
"  pray  !"  and  he  went  to  his  own  room. 

But  all  night  long,  whenever  I  woke  from  fitful 
snatches  of  sleep,  and  went  to  the  window  to  look 
if  the  storm  had  passed,  and  if  Roger  were  coming, 
I  saw  the  light  burning  iu  my  Father's  window. 

The  last  time  Aunt  Gretel  crept  up  softly  behind 
me,  and  throwing  her  large  wimple  over  me,  drew 
me  gently  away. 

"  I  have  kept  such  a  poor  watch  for  Roger !"  I 
said ;  "  and  see  !  ray  Father's  lamp  is  burning  still. 
He  has  been  watching  all  night." 


148 


THE  DRAYTONS,  ETC. 


"  There  is  Another  watching,  Olive,"  she  said, 
softly,  night  and  day.  The  Intercessor  slumbers 
not,  nor  sleeps.  It  is  never  dark  now  in  the  Holiest 
Place,  for  he  is  ever  there ;  and  never  silent,  for  He 
is  ever  interceding." 


Chapter  V. 

|HEN  I  awoke  again,  the  cheerful  stir  of 
life  had  begun  within  and  without  the 
house — the  ducks  splashing  in  the  pond 
in  the  front  court ;  the  unsuccessful  swine 
and  poultry  grunting  and  cackling  out  their  bill  of 
grievances  against  their  stronger-snouted  or  quicker- 
Avitted  rivals ;  Tib's  cheery  voice  instructing  her 
cows  and  calves ;  and  at  intervals  the  pleasant 
regular  beat  of  the  flail  in  the  barn,  where  they  were 
thrashing  the  corn, — striking  steady  time  to  all  the 
busy  irregular  sounds  of  animal  life,  and  bringing 
them  into  a  kind  of  unity. 

All  these  homely,  quiet  sounds  seemed  stranger 
to  me  than  the  howling  of  the  winds,  and  fitful 
clattering  of  the  hail,  through  the  night.  They 
made  me  feel  impatient  with  the  animals,  and  with 
Tib,  and  with  the  inflexible  every-day  course  of 
things.  Was  not  Roger — our  own  Roger — in  agony 
worse  than  mortal  sickness,  in  suspense  whether  or 
not  his  hand  had  dealt  a  death-blow.  Were  not  we 
in  dreadful  suspense  whether  his  whole  life  might 

14*  (149) 


15© 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


not  be  overshadowed  from  this  moment  as  vith  a 
curse  ? 

And  yet  the  calves  must  be  fed,  and  the  swine 
snuff  at  their  ti-oughs  and  grudge  if  they  be  not 
satisfied,  and  the  ducks  sjilash  and  preen  themselves 
as  if  nothing  was  the  matter. 

There  are  many  seasons  in  life  when  the  quiet 
flow  of  the  stream  of  every-day  life,  as  it  prattles 
past  our  door  among  the  fxmiliar  grasses  and  peb- 
bles, falls  on  the  heart  with  a  sense  of  inflexibility 
more  terrible  than  the  storm  wdiich  ploughs  the 
waves  of  the  Atlantic  into  mountains,  and  snaps 
the  masts  X)f  great  ships  like  withered  corn  stalks. 

But  that  morning  was  the  first  on  which  I  learn- 
ed it. 

The  storm  had  quite  passed.  The  dawn  was  still 
strugglijig  with  the  cold  winter  moonlight.  Far  off 
the  gray  morning  shone  with  a  steely  gleam  on  the 
creek  of  the  Mere,  were  I  used  to  sit  quite  still  for 
hours  while  Roger  angled,  holding  his  fish-basket, 
amply  rewarded  at  last  by  his  dictum  that  there 
was  one  little  woman  in  the  world  who  knew  when 
to  hold  her  tongue,  and  by  the  reflecting  glory  of 
his  triumph  when  he  brought  the  basket  of  fish  to 
Tib  for  my  father's  supper.  Only  last  autumn,  and 
now  it  seemed  as  if  it  had  happened  in  another  life. 

Close  to  us  in  the  high-road  the  moonlight  still 
glimmered  on  the  pools. 

Aunt  Gretel  w^as  dressed  and  gone.  My  last  sleep 
had  been  sound.  I  reproached  myself  for  my  hard- 
heartedness  in  sleeping  at  all. 

It  was  still  dusk  enough  to  show  the  faint  red 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


15* 


liglat  in  my  Father's  chamber.  Was  he  still  watch- 
ing? 

My  question  was  answered  by  the  sound  of  the 
psalui  coming  up  fi'om  the  hall,  where  the  house- 
hold were  gatnered  for  family  prayer.  This  re- 
minded me  that  it  was  the  Sabbath-day,  the  only 
day  on  which  we  used  to  sing  a  psalm  at  morning 
prayers.  I  knelt  at  the  window  while  they  sang. 
I  heard  my  flither's  voice  leading  the  psalm,  and  Aunt 
Dorothy's  deep  second,  and  Aunt  Gretel's  tremulous 
treble ;  but  not  Roger's.  I  felt  so  strange  to  be 
listening,  instead  of  joining  in  the  song.  Such  a 
thuig  had  never  happened  to  me  before.  Aunt 
Gretel  must  have  thought  it  good  for  me  to  sleep 
on,  and  have  crept  down  stairs  like  a  ghost.  But 
the  feeling  of  being  outside  was  terrible  to  me  that 
morning.  It  brought  back  my  old  terror  about 
being  "  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  tree."  But  not  so 
much  for  myself.  For  Roger  !  for  Roger  !  What 
if  he  should  be  feeling  left  outside  like  this  ! — outside 
the  prayers,  outside  the  hymns,  outside  the  holy 
family  gatherings,  outside  the  light  and  the  wel- 
come !  That  morning  I  felt  something  of  what 
must  be  meant  by  the  outer  darkness.  The  darkness 
outside  !  Even  the  "  darkness'-'  did  not  seem  to  me 
so  terrible  as  the  -being  outside!  For  it  showed 
there  was  a  within — a  home ;  light  within,  music 
within,  the  Father's  welcome  within  and  we  outside ! 
Could  it  be  that  Roger  was  feeling  this  now  ? 

All  this  rushed  through  my  heart  as  I  knelt  to  the 
music  of  the  family  psalm. 

Then,  dressing  hastily,  I  v/ent  down. 


'52 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


"  Roger  has  been  here,  Olive,"  said  my  Father, 
answering  my  looks.  "  He  brought  the  chirurgeon 
to  the  Hall,  and  came  home  an  hour  since,  and  then 
went  back  again  to  watch." 

"Then  Sir  Launcelot  is  not  out  of  danger,"  I 
said. 

"  !N"o,"  he  replied ;  "  but  there  is  hope." 

There  was  no  morning  walk  for  us  that  day.  My 
Father  went  to  his  chamber,  my  aunts  to  theirs,  and 
I  to  the  chamber  where  the  dried  herbs  lay,  partly 
because  it  was  Roger's  and  my  Sunday  parliament- 
house,  and  partly  because  from  it  I  could  see  the 
towers  of  Davenant  Hall. 

In  our  Puritan  household  we  were  brought  w])  with 
great  faith  in  the  virtues  of  solitude.  A  very  solemn 
part  of  our  ritual  was,  "  Thou,  when  thou  praycst, 
enter  into  thy  closet,  and  shut  thy  door,  and  pray 
to  thy  Father  which  is  in  secret."  "  The  one  minute 
and  immistakable  rubric,"  my  Father  called  it,  "  in 
the  New  Testament."  For  he  used  to  say,  "  not 
only  is  the  solitary  place  the  place  for  the  Redeemer's 
agonies  and  the  aj^ostle's  bitter  weeping ;  it  is  the 
place  of  the  largest  assemblies.  For  therein  passing 
the  barriei'S  of  the  congregation,  we  enter  into  the 
assembly  and  Church  of  the  first-born,  and  into  the 
temple  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 
Any  religion,"  said  he,  "  whose  secret  springs  do 
not  exceed  its  surface  waters,  will  evaporate  in  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day." 

We  went  to  church  as  usual,  and  slow  y  and 
silently  we  were  coming  away,  avoiding  as  much  as 
possible  the  usual  greetings  with  neighbours,  and 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


153 


I  feeling  especially  anxious  to  escape  Placidia's 
sympathy. 

But  that  was  impossible.  However,  as  she  joined 
lis  she  looked  really  anxious ;  too  anxious  even  to 
find  an  appropriate  text.  She  took  my  hand  kindly, 
and  said — 

"  We  must  hope  for  the  best,  Olive." 

And  there  was  something  in  the  "  we,"  and  the 
briefness  of  her  words,  which  brought  tears  into  my 
eyes,  and  made  me  think  I  might  still  have  been 
keeping  a  hard  place  in  my  heart  which  would  have 
to  be  melted. 

But  we  had  only  just  left  the  church-yard,  and 
gone  a  few  steps  beyond  the  gate  on  the  field-path 
to  Netherby  (I  walking  behind  the  rest),  when  a 
soft  hand  was  laid  on  my  shoulder,  and  my  face  was 
drawn  down  to  Lcttice  Davenant's  kisses,  as  in  a 
low  voice  she  said — 

"  Oh,  Olive,  I  am  sure  Sir  Launcelot  will  get  well. 
My  Mother  has  been  saying  prayers  all  night.  And 
Roger  is  so  good.  Indeed,  it  Avas  not  nearly  half 
Roger's  fault.  Sir  Launcelot  did  say  terribly  pro- 
voking things  about  the  Pi'ccisians,  and  hypocrisy, 
and  your  Father." 

"  What  did  he  say,  Lettice  ?"  I  asked,  passionately. 

"  My  Mother  says  we  ought  to  forget  bitter 
words,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I  think  WQ  ought — at  all 
events,  until  he  gets  better." 

"  Oh,  Lettice,"  I  implored,  "  tell  me,  only  me  ! 
That  I  may  know,  if  he  should  not  get  better.  Roger 
told  my  Father  it  was  all  his  fault ;  but  I  know — I 
always  knew — it  was  not.     I  shall  know  this  if  you 


154 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


will  not  tell  me  another  word,  and  perhaps  think 
even  worse  things  than  were  said." 

"  It  was  not  so  much  the  words — thoy  were  ordi- 
nary enough — ^it  was  the  tone,"  said  she.  "  And, 
besides,  it  is  so  difficult  to  repeat  any  conversation 
truly ;  and  it  was  all  in  such  a  moment,  I  can  scarcely 
tell.  It  began  about  Lord  Straffiard,  and  about  Mr. 
Hampden  and  Mr.  Pym  being  canting  hypocrites, 
and  Mr.  Cromwell  being  a  beggarly  brewer ;  and 
then  Sir  Launcelot  muttered  something  in  a  whining 
tone  about  wondering  that  Roger's  Father  permitted 
him  to  indulge  in  such  ungodly  amusements  as 
bonfires  ;  and  Roger  said  it  was  not  fair  to  attack 
when  he  knew  there  could  be  no  retort  (meaning 
because  I  was  there) ;  and  Sir  Launcelot  said  he 
believed  the  Precisians  never  thought  it  fair  to  be 
attacked  except  behind  some  good  city  walls.  And 
then  followed  a  fire  of  words  about  cowardice,  and 
hypocrisy,  and  treason  ;  and  then  something  about 
your  father  having  taken  care  to  leave  the  German 
wars  in  good  time  for  his  own  safety.  Then  I  saw 
Roger's  hand  up,  thrusting  Sir  Launcelot  away, 
rather  than  striking  him,  I  thought.  But  the  next 
instant  Sir  Launcelot  lay  on  the  ground,  with  his 
head  against  a  jagged  log,  the  other  end  of  which 
was  in  the  bonfire,  and  Roger  was  pulling  him  back, 
and  Sir  Launcelot  swearing  something  aboiit  a 
"  Puritan  dog"  and  being  "  murdered."  And  then 
I  saw  the  blood  flowing  from  a  wound  in  his  head. 
I  gave  Roger  my  veil  to  staunch  it  with.  But  it 
would  not  stop.  Sir  Launcelot  fainted ;  and  Roger 
told  me  to  run  to  my  Mother.     In  five  minutes  all 


THE  DA  VEXANTS. 


»S5 


the  people  were  on  tlie  spot,  and  Roger  was  on 
horseback  i-iding  of  for  the  physician.  There  !  I  have 
told  you  all  I  know"  she  said,  "  whether  I  ought  or 
not.  But  don't  tell  Roger.  For  I  tried  to  comfort 
him  by  saying  how  he  had  been  provoked.  But  it 
did  not  comfort  him  in  the  least.  He  looked  quite 
fierce  at  me — at  me  !"  said  little  Lettice,  the  tears 
overflowing,  "  Avheu  he  was  always  so  kind !  And 
he  said  there  was  no  excuse  for  murder.  He  was 
wild  with  trouble,"  she  continued,  sobbing,  "  not  a 
bit  like  himself,  Olive  ;  and  since  that  I  cannot  tell 
what  to  say  to  him.  Your  ways  and  ours  are  not 
exactly  the  same,  you  know.  So  I  have  been  with 
my  Mother  in  her  oratory.  It  is  so  hard  to  under- 
stand anybody.  But  I  hope  God  understands  us  all. 
I  do  hope  He  does.  My  Mother  could  not  find  one 
of  the  church  prayers  that  quite  fitted.  But  she 
joined  two  or  three  together,  in  the  Collects,  and 
the  Visitation  of  the  Sick,  and  the  Litany,  which 
seemed  to  say  all  she  wanted  wonderfully.  I  never 
knew  how  much  they  meant  before.  And  it  does 
seem  as  if  God  must  hear ;  and  Roger  always  so 
good.  He  may  say  what  he  likes,  always  so  .good, 
to  rae  and  to  every  one !" 

Lettice's  tears  opened  the  sluices  of  mine,  and 
were  a  great  comfort ;  and  it  was  a  comfort,  too,  to 
think  of  those  dear  kind  voices  joining  in  Lady 
Lucy's  oratory. 

When  we  reached  home,  the  great  table  Avas 
spread  in  the  hall,  and  the  serving-men  and  maidens 
were  standinsc  round  it. 


1 5  6  THE  D  RA  YTONS  A  ND 

My  Father  moyed  to  the  head  and  asked  the  bless* 
mg  on  the  meal,  then  he  said, — 

"  Friends,  the  hand  of  God  is  heavy  on  me  to- 
day, and  you  will  not  look  that  I  should  eat  bread 
while  a  life  is  in  peril  through  deed  of  one  who  is 
to  me  as  my  own  soul.  I  might  brave  it  out,  and 
put  on  a  cheerful  countenance.  But  I  would  have 
you  know  I  am  humbled.  The  blows  of  an  enemy 
we  may  fiice  as  men.  Beneath  the  rod  of  the  Lord 
we  must  bow  like  smitten  children.  And  I  would 
have  you  know  I  do.  Yet  I  cannot  refrain  fi-om 
telling  you  also  that  it  was  for  bitter  words  against 
good  men  that  the  blow  was  struck.  So  much  I 
must  say  for  the  boy,  though  God  forbid  I  should 
hide  the  sin." 

He  left  the  hall,  and  every  eye  was  moist  as  it 
followed  him. 

The  general  judgment  was  anything  but  harsh 
against  Roger,  as  was  easy  to  see  from  the  few  low 
broken  words  which  interrupted  the  silence  of  that 
sorrowful  meal,  and  from  the  response  of  Tib,  to 
whom  I  secretly  ventured  to  tell  how  sorely  Roger 
had  been  provoked. 

"  No  need  to  tell  me.  Mistress  Olive !"  said  she. 
"  That  Sir  Launcelot  is  enough  to  rouse  a  saint,  his 
groom  told  my  Margery's  Dickon.  And  they  may 
say  what  they  like,  but  I  wouldn't  give  a  farthing 
for  any  saint  that  can't  be  roused." 

It  was  not  tlie  public  verdict  Roger  had  to  fear. 
Aunt  Dorotliy  took  my  Father's  place  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  her  face  white  and  rigid,  carving  the 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


'57 


meat,  but  eating  not  a  moi'sel,  nor  uttering  a  word. 
Aunt  Gretcl  moved  about  on  one  pretence  and 
another,  holding  half-wliispcrcd  discourse  with  the 
elder  servants  of  the  house,  from  the  broken 
snatches  of  which  I  gathered  that  she  fell  into 
great  historical  difficulties  in  her  double  anxiety  to 
say  nothing  harsh  of  the  wounded  gentleman,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  prove  that  Roger  had  meant  no 
harm.  And  I,  meantime,  could  scarce  have  sat 
through  that  terrible  meal  at  all,  but  for  Roger's 
stag-hound  Lion,  who  nestled  in  close  to  me,  press- 
ing his  great  head  under  my  hand,  and  calling  my 
attention  by  a  soft  moan,  and  from  time  to  time 
secretly  relieving  me  of  the  food  I  could  not  touch, 
bolting  it  in  a  surrejotitious  manner,  regardless  of 
consequences,  which  said  as  plainly  as  possible, 
"  Thou  and  I  understand  each  other.  Our  hearts 
are  in  the  same  place.  I  eat,  not  because  I  care  a 
straw  about  it,  but  to  please  thee  and  help  A/m." 
Only  once,  when  my  tears  fell  fast  on  his  nose,  as  I 
stooped  over  him  to  hide  them,  his  feelings  betrayed 
him,  and  his  great  paws  appeared  for  a  moment  on 
the  clean  Sabbath  cloth,  as  with  an  inquiring  whine 
he  started  up  and  tried  to  lick  my  face,  which  I 
sujjposed  was  his  way  of  figuratively  wiping  away 
ray  tears.  But  at  the  gentlest  touch  on  his  paws 
he  subsided,  casting  one  anxious  glance  at  Aunt 
Dorothy,  who,  however,  neither  saw  him  nor  the 
brown  foot-prints  on  the  tablecloth.  Always  after- 
wards he  maintained  his  gentlemanlike  reserve, 
limiting  all  further  expression  of  his  feelings  to 
spasmodic  movements  of  his  tail,  and  to  his  great 
14 


158 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


soft  wistful  eyes,  wliicli  he  never  took  off  from  me, 
For  dogs  always  know  when  anythmg  is  the  nat' 
ter.  Their  misfortune  is  they  can  never  make  out 
what  it  is.  Roger's  ancient  foe,  the  old  gray  cat, 
meantime  made  secretly  off  with  a  piece  of  meat 
which  Lion  had  dropped.  And  I  caught  sight  of 
her  slowly  luxuriating  over  it  in  a  corner,  entirely 
regardless  of  the  family  circumstances. 

Every  most  trivial  incident  in  that  day  glows  as 
vividly  and  distinctly  in  my  memory,  in  the  fire  of 
the  passion  that  burned  through  it  all,  as  every  de- 
tail of  the  carving  of  Davenant  Hall  in  the  flames 
of  the  twelve  bonfires. 

The  meal  passed  in  a  silence  so  deep  that  every 
M'hisper  of  Aunt  Gretel's  and  every  moan  of  Lion's 
were  clearly  heard.  But  afterwards  the  men  slunk 
hastily  away  to  the  farm-yard  and  stables,  and  Tib 
with  bones  and  fragments  to  her  hens  and  pigs,  and 
the  maidens  began  to  clear  away  the  wooden 
trenchers  and  our  pewter  dishes,  the  clatter  and 
rattle  sounding  singularly  noisy  Avithout  the  cheei* 
ful  talk  which  generally  accompanied  it. 

Aunt  Dorothy,  Aunt  Gretel,  and  I,  went,  at  his 
summons,  into  my  Father's  justice-room.  "  Where 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together,"  said  he  ;  and 
without  further  preamble  we  all  knelt  down  while 
he  prayed,  in  a  few  words  and  quiet  (to  the  ear). 
For  he  seemed  to  feel  the  great,  loving,  omnipotent 
Presence ;  not  far  off,  where  cries  only  cquld  reacli, 
but  near,  close,  overshadowing,  indwelling,  too 
near  almost  for  speech.     And  we  felt  the  same. 

When  he  ctased,  it  was  some  minutes  before  we 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  1 5  9 

rose.     And  the  silence  fell  on  me  like  an  answer 

like  an  "  Amen,"  like  one  of  those  "  Verilys  "  which 

shine  through  so  many  of  the  Gospel  words,  and 

ilhmiine  them  so  that  they  may  read  in  the  dark ; 

in  the  dark  when  we  most  need  them. 

Before  we  left,  I  told  him  of  Lady  Lucy  and 

Lettice    praying    the    Collects  for  Roger  in   her 

oratory. 

My  Father  turned  away  with  trembling  lips  to 

the  window.     Aunt  Gretel  sobbed.     Aunt  Dorothy 

said,  with  a  faint  voice, — 

"  God  forgive  me  if  I  said  anything  of  Lady  Lucy 
I  should  not  have  said." 

We  had  not  left  the  room  when  Lettice's  white 

palfry  flashed  past  the  door,  and  in  another  moment 
she  had  met  us  in  the  porch. 

"  Sir  Launcelot  will  live  !"  she  said.  "  The  phy- 
sician says  there  is  every  hope  ;  and  he  sleeps.  If 
he  wakes  better,  all  will  be  right ;  and  Roger  waits 
to  sec,  because  he  still  fears.  But  I  am  sure  all 
will  be  well.  And  I-  could  not  bear  you  should 
wait ;  so  my  mother  let  me  come." 

In  his  thankfulness  my  Father  forgot  the  stately 
courtesy  with  whicli  lie  usually  treated  Lettice,  and 
stooping  down,  took  her  in  his  arms,  as  if  she  had 
been  me,  and  kissed  and  blessed  her,  and  called  her 
"God's  sweet  messenger  and  dove  of  hope!"  and 
prayed  she  might  be  so  all  her  life.  And  Aunt 
Gretel  disai^peared  to  tell  every  one.  But  Aunt 
Dorothy  stood  still  where  she  was,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  wept  unrestrainedly  in  a 
way  most  uncommon  with  her. 


1 60  THE  DRA  YTONS  AKD 

Lettice,  with  her  own  sweet  instinct  when  to 
come  and  when  to  go,  was  on  the  steps  by  the  door 
in  a  moment  (anticipating  her  groom's  ready  hand), 
on  her  white  pony,  waving  her  hand  to  us  as  we 
watched  her  in  the  porch,  and  away  out  of  sight, 
escaping  our  tlianks,  and  leaving  us  to  our  hope. 

Slowly  the  dispersed  household,  who  had  all  been 
invisily  bound  to  the  centre  they  nevertheless  would 
not  approach,  gathered  in  the  hall  from  stall,  and 
shed,  and  field. 

And  then  my  Father  said, — 

"  Friends,  God  has  given  us  hope.  Therefore  let 
us  pray."  And  for  a  few  minutes  we  all  knelt  to- 
gether while  he  prayed,  in  brief  trustful  words,  end- 
ing with  the  Lord's  Prayer,  in  which  all  the  voices 
joined,  at  least  all  that  could,  for  there  were  many 
tears. 

Then  my  Father  read  Luther's  Psalm,  "  God  is 
our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  time 
of  trouble." 

And  we  felt  it  was  true.  And  so  the  service 
ended.  And  once  more  the  household  scattered. 
For  Roger  had  yet  to  return,  and  we  all  felt  a  fam- 
ily-gathering would  be  a  welcome  he  could  ill  bear. 
So  Aunt  Dorothy  went  to  her  chamber,  and  Aunt 
Gretel  to  her  German  hymn-book  by  the  fireside, 
and  I  to  my  place  at  her  feet,  and  then  to  watch 
from  the  porch.  Fpr  my  Father  went  out  to  meet 
Roger. 

And  of  that  meeting  neither  of  them  ever 
spoke. 

They  came  back  together,  ray  Father's  hand  on 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  1 6 1 

Koger's  shoulder,  half  as  on  a  child's  for  tenderness, 
half  as  an  old  man's  on  a  son's  for  support. 

"  Sir  Launcelot  is  out  of  danger !"  said  my  Fa- 
ther, when  he  came  into  the  hall. 

Roger  kissed  lue  and  Aunt  Gretel  as  he  passed, 
and  took  my  hand  and  tried  to  say  something;  but 
said  nothing,  only  let  me  sob  a  minute  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  then  went  up  to  liis  chamber. 

"We  were  used  rather  to  repress  than  to  give  ut- 
terance to  feeling  in  our  Puritan  households.  And 
Lion  was  the  only  person  vvdio  made  much  show  of 
what  he  felt,  twisting  and  whining  and  fondling 
round  Roger  in  a  way  very  unsuited  to  his  giant 
bulk.  We  heard  him  jiacing  after  Roger  to  the  foot 
of  the  great  staircase.  Upstairs  no  dog  under  Aunt 
Dorothy's  rule  would  venture,  under  the  strongest 
excitement ;  so  after  lying  exjjectant  at  its  foot  for 
some  time.  Lion  returned  to  express  his  satisfaction 
in  a  more  composed  manner  to  me. 

At  family-prayer  that  night,  my  Father  made  one 
biief  allusion  of  fervent  thankfulness  to  the  mercy 
of  the  day.  More  neither  he  nor  Roger  could  have 
borne. 

And  so  that  Sabbath  of  unrest  ended.  To  us,  but 
not  to  Roger ;  although  I  only  learned  this  long  af- 
terwards. For  no  lamp  marked  the  watch  of  agony 
he  kept  that  night.  And  on  liis  haggard  counte- 
nance, when  he  came  down  the  next  morning,  no 
one  dared  question  nor  comment 

For  while  others  rejoiced  in  tlie  deliverance,  he 
writhed  in  agony  under  the  burden  and  in  the  coils 
of  his  sin.  The  a-^cident  of  tlie  log  iK'iug  at  hand, 
14* 


i  1 2  THE  BRA  TTONS  AND 

that  might  have  made  it  murder,  and  the  other  ac- 
cident, that  the  wound  had  not  been  an  inch  nearer 
the  temple  or  a  barley-corn  deeper,  made  absolutely 
no  difFereucc  in  the  burden  that  weighed  on  him. 
If  Sir  Launcelot  had  died,  the  punishment  would 
have  been  heavier ;  but  not  the  remorse.  And  al- 
though his  living  was  the  deepest  cause  of  thankful- 
ness, yet  it  was  no  lightening  of  the  sin.  For  it 
was  the  fountain  of  the  sin  within  that  was  Roger's 
misery ;  the  fountain  deep  in  the  heart. 

Now  he  began  to  feel  the  meaning  of  the  words, 
"  Out  of  the  heart."  Now  the  old  difficulties  he 
and  I  had  discussed  in  the  apple-tree  and  in  the 
herb-chamber  rushed  back  on  him.  Now  he  began 
to  feel  that  it  was  no  mere  entertaining  question 
in  metaphysical  dynamics  whether  he  was  a  free 
agent  or  not,  but  a  question  of  moral  and  eternal 
life  or  death. 

Could  he  have  resisted  the  temptation  to  strike 
Sir  Launcelot  ?  Or  could  he  not  ?  His  hand  had 
stirred  to  deal  that  blow,  at  the  bidding  of  the  bit- 
ter anger  in  his  heart,  as  instinctively  and  almost 
as  unconsciously  as  the  indignant  blood  had  rushed 
to  the  cheelc  What  had  stirred  the  sudden  move- 
ment of  anger  in  his  heart  ?  Far  bitterer  words 
from  the  lijjs  of  a  stranger  had  not  moved  him 
as  those  mocking  tones  of  Sir  Launcelot's.  The 
strength  of  that  fatal  impulse  was  but  the  accumu- 
lated force  of  the  irritation  of  countless  petty  prov- 
ocations, not  retaliated  outwardlj-,  but  suifered  to 
ferment  in  the  heart.  Nor  was  that  last  sin  alto- 
gether rooted  in  sin.     Roger's  search  into  his  own 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  1 S^ 

heart  was  made  with  too  intense  a  desire  of  being 
true  to  himself  and  to  God  for  him  to  foil  into  that 
blind  passion  of  self-accusing.  It  had  been  more 
than  half-rooted  in  justice,  just  anger  against  injus- 
tice, generous  indignation  against  ungenerous  slan- 
der, truth  revolting  against  falsehood.  And  so 
gradual  (and  in  part  so  just)  had  been  the  growth 
of  deep-rooted  detestation  of  Sir  Launcelot's  char- 
acter, that  the  last  act — which  might  have  been 
crime  in  the  eyes  of  man,  which  was  crime  in  the 
eyes  of  God,  whose  judgment  is  not  measured  by 
consequences — had  become  almost  as  irresistible 
and  instinctive  as  the  movement  of  the  eyelid  to 
sweep  a  grain  of  dust  from  the  ej^e. 

When,  then,  could  he  have  begun  to  resist? 
When  would  it  have  been  possible  to  stem  the  little 
stream  which  had  swollen  into  a  torrent  that  had 
all  but  swept  his  life  into  ruin?  TITiere  was  the 
point  where  sin  and  virtue,  hati'ed  which  leads  to 
murder,  and  justice  which  is  the  foundation  of  all 
virtue,  began  to  intertwine  until  they  were  ravelled 
inextricably  beyond  his  power  to  sever  or  distin- 
guish ?  Had  there  ever  been  such  a  point  ?  Must 
not  all,  he  being  as  he  was  by  nature,  and  things  be- 
ing as  they  were,  and  Sir  Launcelot  being  as  he 
was,  have  necessarily  gone  on  as  it  had,  and  led  to 
the  result  it  led  to  ? 

But  here  came  in  the  low  inextinguishable  voice 
of  conscience. 

"  This  anguish  is  no  fruit  of  inevitable  necessity. 
It  was  sin — it  was  sin.  I  have  sinned."  And 
then — 


,  64  THE  DEA  YTONS  AND 

"  I  have  sinned,  because  there  is  sin  in  me.  Siu 
in  me ;  no  mere  detached  faults,  no  isolated  w  rong 
acts,  but  a  fountain  of  evil  within  me,  from  -svhich 
every  evil  thing  jiroceeds.  Out  of  the  heart — out 
of  the  heart ;  not  from  without,  not  something 
merely  in  me.  It  is  /  myself  that  am  sinful,  that 
have  sinned.  This  one  evil  thing,  which,  unlike  all 
other  seemingly  evil  things,  storms  or  frosts,  or 
corruption  and  death  itself,  never  produces  good 
fruit,  but  only  evil  fruit,  is  springing  in  an  inex- 
haustible flow  from  the  depths  of  my  innocent 
being." 

"  Free  ?"  I  am  not  free  !  I  am  in  bondage.  I 
am  a  slave.  I  am  tied  and  bound.  Yet  this  bond- 
age is  no  excuse ;  it  is  the  very  essence  of  my  sin. 
I  cannot  explain  it ;  but  I  feel  it.  I  feel  it  in  this 
anguish  which  I  cannot  escape  any  more  than  we 
can  escape  from  anguish  in  the  bones  by  writhing. 
For  this  is  not  the  anguish  of  blows  or  of  wounds, 
but  of  disease  within,  growing  from  my  inmost 
heart,  preying  on  my  inmost  life.  O  God,  I  have 
sinned,  I  am  a  sinful  man.  In  me  is  no  help.  Is 
there  none  in  the  universe,  none  in  Thee  ?" 

Then  from  the  depth  of  the  anguish  came  the  re- 
lief    The  thought  flashed  through  him — 

"  Unless  one  worse  than  the  worst  conception  man 
ever  formed  of  the  devil  is  the  Maker  of  man  and 
the  Omnipotent  Ruler  of  the  world,  it  is  impossible 
that  we  should  be  so  powerless  in  ourselves  to  over- 
come sin,  and  so  agonized  in  remorse  for  it,  and  yet 
that  there  should  be  no  deliverance." 

That  thought  made  a  lull  in  his  anguish  for  a 


THE  DAVENANTS.  1 65 

time,  a  silence  ;  that  thought,  and  the  mere  exhaus- 
tion of  the  conflict.  For  his  thoughts  had  whirled 
him  round  until  thought,  with  the  mere  rapidity 
of  motion,  became  imperceptible.  In  the  centre  of 
the  whirlwind  there  was  stillness,  and  therein  he  lay 
prostrate,  dumb,  and  exhausted. 

But  not  alone. 

On  his  mind,  wearied  out  with  vain  thinking,  on 
his  heart,  numb  with  suffering,  fell  in  the  pause  of 
the  storm  old  sweet,  familiar  words,  still  small 
voices,  soft  echoes  of  sacred  hymns  learned  in  child- 
hood ;  those  old  familiar,  simple  words,  wherewith 
the  Spirit,  moving  like  a  dove  on  the  face  of  the 
waters,  knows  how  to  win  entrance  into  souls  temp- 
est-tossed, when  new  words,  though  wise  and  deep 
as  an  archangel's,  would  only  sweep  past  its  closed 
doors  undistinguished  from  the  wail  of  the  winds, 
or  the  raging  of  the  seas  on  which  it  tosses. 

Old  familiar  words, — 

"  Go  in  peace,  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee." 

Words  of  healing  to  so  many  ! 

Forgiveness ;  not  as  a  far-off  result  of  a  life  of  ex- 
piation, but  free,  complete,  present.  Peace;  not 
after  years  of  doubtful  conflict,  but  now,  to  strength- 
en for  the  conflict.  Yet  these  were  not  the  words 
he  most  wanted  then.  It  was  not  so  much  that 
guilt  pressed  on  him  as  a  burden,  as  that  sin  bound 
him  like  a  chain.  Not  peace  he  most  wanted,  but 
power ;  freedom  to  fight,  power  to  overcome.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  Avhat  he  longed  for  was  not  so 
much  "  Go  in  j^eace,"  as  "  Come  !  and  I  will  chasten 


1 66  THE  DRA  TTONS  AND 

thee,  smite  thee  low,  humble  thee  in  the  dust ;  but 
make  thee  whole." 

Not  soft  words  of  comfort,  but  strong  words  of 
hoi^e  and  promise,  were  what  he  needed,  and  they 
did  not  seem  to  come. 

He  crept  out  of  the  house  before  dawn  to  obtain 
tidings  at  the  Hall  of  Sir  Launcelot,  and  to  quiet 
the  restlessness  of  his  heart  by  outward  move- 
ment. 

On  his  way  he  passed  the  forge  where  JobForster, 
the  blacksmith,  lived  alone  with  his  wife  at  the  edge 
of  the  village  opposite  to  ours,  on  the  way  to  the 
Hall. 

There  was  a  light  in  Job's  window;  a  strange 
sight  in  his  orderly  and  childless  home.  The  red 
glare  it  cast  across  the  road  was  struggling  with 
the  growing  dawn.  As  Roger  approached,  it  was 
put  out ;  and  just  when  he  reached  the  door  it  was 
opened,  and  Job's  tall  figure  issued  forth. 

Job  strode  forward  and  grasped  Roger's  hand. 

"  Thee  had  best  not  be  roaming  about  the  coun- 
try by  theeself  in  the  dark  like  a  ghost,"  said  he. 
"  It's  wisht !" 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?"  asked  Roger,  divert- 
ing the  conversation  from  himself. 

"There's  nought  the  matter  with  us,"  said  Job. 

"  There  was  a  light  in  your  window,  so  I  thought 
Rachel  might  be  ill,"  said  Roger. 

"  There's  nought  ailing  with  us,"  repeated  Job ; 
and  after  some  hesitation  he  added,  "  "We  were  but 
thinking  of  thee." 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  ,  (^y 

"  You  used  not  to  need  a  lamp  to  think  by  "  said 
Roger,  touclied  more  than  he  liked  to  show. 

"No,  nor  to  pi'ay  by,"  said  Job.  "But  we 
wanted  a  promise,  she  and  I."  (Job  seldom  called 
his  w^fe  anything  but  she.)  "  We  wanted  a  promise, 
Master,  for  thee.  For  she  thought  the  devil  would 
be  sure  to  be  busy  with  thee  just  now,  and  so 
did  I." 

"  Did  you  find  one  ?"  asked  Roger. 

"  They  are  as  plenty  as  the  stars,"  said  Job,  "  but 
we  couldn't  light  on  the  one  that  woiild  fit.  And 
it's  bad  work  hammering  them  promises  to  fit  if 
they  don't  go  right  at  first." 

"  As  many  as  the  stars,  and  not  one  that  fits  me !" 
said  Roger,  unintentionally  betraying  the  struggles 
of  the  night.  "  Peace,  and  pardon,  and  eveiything 
every  one  wants,  but  not  what  I  want.  You  found 
none.  Job  !  Then,  of  course,  there  was  nothing 
more  to  be  done.  You  and  Rachel  wouldn't  give 
in  easily." 

"  Well,  Master  Roger,"  said  Job,  "  we  didn't. 
But  we  came  to  a  stand,  and  for  a  while  gave  up 
looking  altogether.  And  I  sat  down  on  one  edge 
of  the  bed  and  she  on  the  other,  and  we  said  noth- 
ing. J  it  she  wept  nigh  as  bitter  as  Esau,  for  she 
ever  had  a  tender  heart  for  thee,  having  none  of  her 
own,  and  thee  no  mother.  "When  all  at  once  she 
flashed  up  through  her  tears,  and  said,  '  Why,  Job, 
w^e've  gone  a-hunting  for  a  j^romise,  and  Ave've  got 
them  all  to  our  hand.  All  in  Him!  Yea  and  amen, 
in  Him  !  We've  forgotten  the  blessed  Lord  !'  Then 
it  struck  me  all  of  a  heap  what  fools  we  were ;  and 


» 68  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

I  could  have  laughed  for  gladness,  but  that  she 
might  have  thought  I'd  gone  mazed.  So  I.  only- 
said,  'Why,  enii'il,  here  we've  been  chattermg  like 
cranes,  as  if  we'd  been  all  in  the  twilight,  like  poor 
old  Hezekiah.  We've  been  hunting  for  the  promises, 
and  we've  got  the  Gift !  We've  been  groping  for 
words,  and  we've  got  the  Word.'  So  we  knelt 
down  again,  and  begged  hard  of  the  Lord  to  mind 
how  He  was  tempted  and  forsaken,  and  to  mind 
thee.  Master  Roger,  and  help  thee  any  way  He 
could.  And  we  rose  up  wonderful  lightened,  she 
and  L  And  then  the  promises  came  falling  about 
us  as  thick  as  hail ;  and  uppermost  of  them  all,  '  If 
the  Son  shall  make  you  free,  you  shall  be  free  in- 
deed ;'  '  Reconciled  to  God  by  His  death ;  saved  by 
His  life ;'  and,  '  I  am  come  that  they  might  have 
lifer' 

"  Job,"  said  Roger,  "  I  think  that  will  do ;  I  think 
that  will  fit  me." 

"Maybe,  Master  Roger,"  said  Job.  "They're 
mighty  words.  But,  please  God,  thee  and  she  and 
I  never  forget  what  we  learnt  to-night.  Words  are 
not  so  strong  always  the  thousandth  time  as  the 
first.  But  His  voice  goes  deeper  every  time  we 
hearken  to  it.  And  every  sore  needs  a  fresh  salve. 
But  His  touch  is  a  salve  for  all  sores.  Never  you 
be  such  a  fool  as  we  were.  Master  Roger.  Never 
you  go  creeping  back  into  the  dark  hunting  for  a 
promise  and  forget  that  they  are  all,  yea  and  amen, 
in  the  Lord.  No  more  if 's  or  maybe's,  or  perad- 
venture's,  but  yea  and  amen  in  Him  for  us  all  for 
ever." 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  1 69 

Roger  grasped  Job's  hand  in  silence,  and  went  on 
to  hear  tidings  of  Sir  Launcelot. 

The  night  had  been  quiet ;  the  fever  had  subsided, 
and  the  danger  was  over.  And  Roger  came  back 
to  his  chamber  at  Netherby  to  give  thanks  to  God. 
For  danger  averted  from  others,  for  a  curse  averted 
from  himself,  but  above  all,  for  the  glorious  promise 
of  freedom  now  and  for  ever — freedom  to  overcome 
sin,  freedom  to  serve  God.  Freedom  in  the  liberat- 
ing Saviour,  life  in  the  Life,  sonship  in  the  Son, 
now  and  for  ever. 

The  various  streams  of  the  various  lives  which 
had  been  flooded  into  one  by  the  common  anxiety 
about  Roger  and  Sir  Launcelot  soon  shrank  back 
into  their  various  separate  channels. 

Ah !  if  we  could  all  keep  at  the  point,  "/  ivill 
arise,''''  or  better  still,  at  the  place  where  the  Father 
meets  us,  how  good,  and  lowly,  and  tender-hearted 
we  should  be  !  No,  "  thou  never  gavest  me  a  kid  ;"  no, 
''^  this  th7j  son,  lohich  hath  devoured  thij  substance P^ 
Strange  that  the  memory  of  such  moments  (and 
what  Christian  life  can  be  without  such  ?)  should 
not  keep  the  heart  ever  broken  and  open.  The  best 
way  towards  this,  no  doubt,  is  to  have  such  an 
arising  and  such  an  embracing  every  day  we  live. 
I  am  sure  we  need  it.  However,  we  did  not  exactly 
do  this  at  that  time  at  Netherby. 

Aunt  Dorothy,  on  thinking  matters  over  with  her 

"  sober  judgment,"  thought  it  a  duty  to  warn  us 

against  the  "  spirit  of  bondage,"  which,  Avith  all 

her  sweetness,  had   restrained  poor  Lady  Lucy's 

15 


170 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


prayers  to  the  limits  of  the  Prayer-hook.  Cousin 
Placidia,  the  immediate  anxiety  having  subsided, 
couhl.  not  but  feel  that  Roger's  vehemence  had 
added  another  step  to  the  distance  which  already 
separated  them.  Once  on  that  Pharisaic  height,  to 
which,  alas  !  we  so  easily  rise  without  any  trouble 
of  climbing,  being  puffed  up  thither  by  windy  sub- 
stances within  and  without,  other  people's  falls 
necessarily  increase  our  comparative  elevation  above 
them ;  and  whether  this  is  caused  by  their  descent 
or  by  our  ascent  is  diiScult  to  determine ;  just  as  in 
the  case  of  one  boat  passing  another,  it  is  difficult 
by  the  mere  sense  of  sight  to  ascertain  which  is 
moving.  Not  that  Placidia  asserted  this  conscious 
superiority  by  reproaches.  Did  she  need  to  descend 
to  speech  ?  Was  not  her  life  a  reproach  ?  That 
placid  life,  unbroken  by  auy  movement  deeper  than 
the  soft  ripples  of  an  approving  conscience ;  or  a 
calm  disapproval  of  any  one  attempting  an  en- 
croachment on  her  rights, — which  of  course  she 
never  permitted.  Had  she  not  heard  of  Archbishop 
Laud's  cruelties  to  the  three  gentlemen  in  the 
pillory  with  no  further  emotion  than  a  gentle  regret 
that  the  tliree  gentlemen  could  not  have  held  their 
tongues  ?  Had  she  not,  on  the  other  hand,  heard 
the  tidings  of  Lord  Strafford's  arrest,  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  Star-Chamber  Court,  with  no  more 
vehement  feeling  than  a  remark  on  the  vanity  of 
human  greatness,  and  a  gentle  hope  that  it  might 
lead  to  tlie  abolition  of  the  very  inconvenient 
mono])olics  on  pepper  and  soap  ? 

Had  she  not  alwavs  warned  Ko2;or  and  me  against 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  ,  7 , 

Seventy  on  Sir  Launcelot  ?  Had  she  not  even  gone 
the  length  of  pronouncing  him  a  very  fine  gentle- 
man ?  And  what  could  be  more  striking  than  the 
subsequent  justification  of  her  warnings  by  the  re- 
vengeful act  to  which  Roger  had  been  betrayed  ? 

Under  all  these  circumstances,  Placidia's  forbear- 
ance must  have  seemed  to  herself  remarkable.  She 
uttered  no  rebuke,  she  pointed  no  moral,  by  remind- 
ing us  of  her  prophetical  sayings.  She  merely 
towered  above  us  on  her  serene  heights,  a  little 
higher,  a  little  more  serene — a  very  little — than  be- 
fore. And  she  called  me  "  Olive,  my  dear,"  and 
Eoger  "poor  Roger."  But  that  was  partly,  no 
doubt,  on  account  of  her  being  married. 

Roger  bore  her  superiority  most  meekly.  Indeed, 
I  believe  he  felt  it  as  much  as  she  did.  For  Roger 
did  remain  at  that  point  of  penitence  and  pardon 
where  the  heart  keeps  sweet,  and  lowly,  and  tender. 
Which,  most  certainly,  I  very  often  did  not.  For 
Placidia's  condescension,  especially  to  Roger,  chafed 
me  often  past  endurance. 

Only  once  I  remember  his  being  roused. 

She  had  been  saying  (I  forget  in  what  connec- 
tion) that  she  hoped  Roger  would  not  be  too  much 
cast  down.  "  It  was  never  too  late  to  turn  over  a 
new  leaf;  and  then  there  was  the  consoling  example 
of  the  Apostle  Peter.  There  was  reason  to  believe 
that  the  Apostle  Peter  was  a  wiser  and  better  man 
all  his  life  from  his  terrible  fall.  And  we  know  that 
'  all  things  work  for  good,'  "  said  she,  "  '  to  them  tliut 
are  called.'  " 

Then  Roger,  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall 


172 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


cleaning  his  gun,  as  we  believed  out  of  hearing, 
suddenly  rose,  and  coming  to  where  we  were  sitting, 
stood  before  Placidia  with  compressed  lips  and 
arms  folded  tightly  on  his  breast, — 

"  Cousili  Placidia,"  he  said,  "  never,  never  say 
that  again.  St.  Peter  was  not  wiser  and  better,  or 
even  humbler  for  denying  Christ.  No  doubt  he 
was  wiser,  and  better,  and  tenderer  for  that  look,  for 
ever  and  ever ;  and  better  for  the  bitter  weeping ; 
but  not  for  the  denial,  not  for  the  sin." 

Said  my  Father,  who  came  in  behind  Roger  as  he 
spoke,  laying  his  hand  on  Roger's  shoulder, — 

"  True,  Roger,  true  ;  but  though  sin  can  never 
work  for  good,  the  memory  of  sin  may ;  and  at  any 
point  in  the  lowest  depths  where  we  turn  our  back 
on  the  husks  and  our  face  to  the  Father's  house, 
God  will  meet  us,  and  from  that  moment  make  the 
consequences,  bitter  as  they  may  be,  begin  to  work 
for  good  to  us." 

"  To  us !  Father,  to  us,"  said  Roger,  *'  but  to 
others — how  to  others  ?  To  those  our  misdoing  may 
have  misled  or  confirmed  in  evil  ?  We  may  stop  a 
rock  hurled  down  a  precipice.  But  who  can  stop 
all  it  has  set  in  motion,  or  undo  the  ruin  it  has 
wroiight  in  its  way  ?" 

"  Nothing  works  for  good,"  said  my  Father  mourn- 
fully, "  to  those  whose  faces  are  turned  from  God. 
But  He  can  help  us,  and  will,  if  we  set  our  whole 
hearts  to  it,  to  counter-work  the  evil  we  have 
wi'ought.  Counter-work,  I  say,  not  undo ;  for  to 
undo  a  deed  done  is  impossible  even  to  Omnipo- 
tence.    And  that  makes  sin  the  one  terrible  and  un- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


173 


alterably  evil  and  sorrowful  thing  in  the  w  orld,  and 
the  only  one." 

The  words  fell  heavily  on  my  heart.  Was  this 
the  gospel  ?  I  thought.  Evil  never,  never  to  he 
undone,  sin  never  to  be  the  same  as  if  it  had  not 
been  ?  Placidia  said  no  more  until  Roger  and  my 
Father  went  out  on  the  farm  together,  and  we  were 
left  alone  with  Aunt  Gretel,  and  then  she  observed 
in  her  deliberate  way,  with  a  slow  shake  of  her 
head, — 

"  I  hope  Cousin  Roger  is  not  still  in  the  dark.  I 
trust  he  understands  the  gospel — " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  gospel,  Placidia  ?  " 
said  I,  half  roused  on  Roger's  account  and  half 
troubled  on  my  own. 

Placidia,  always  ready  (at  that  time)  with  a  tlie- 
ological  definition,  neatly  folded  and  packed,  enter- 
ed into  a  disquisition  of  some  length  as  to  what  she 
understood  by  "  the  gospel."  In  a  deliberate  and 
business-like  manner  she  xmdertook  to  explain  the 
pxirposes  of  the  Almighty  from  the  beginning,  as  if 
she  had,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  been  in  the  con- 
fidence of  Heaven  before  the  beginning,  and  com- 
prehended not  only  all  the  purposes  of  the  Eternal, 
but  the  reasons  on  which  these  purposes  were  found- 
ed. The  efiect  produced  on  my  mind  was  as  if  the 
whole  life-ffivino;  stream  of  redeeminsi:  love  flowinoj 
from  the  glorious  unity  of  the  living  God,  the  Fa- 
ther, the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  had  been  frozen 
into  a  rigid  contract  between  certain  high  sovereign 
powers  for  the  piirchase  of  a  certain  inheritance  for 
their  own  use,  in  which  the  utmost  care  was  taken 
15* 


»74 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


on  all  sides  that  the  quantity  paid  and  the  quantity 
received  should  be  precisely  equivalent.  It  was  as 
if  the  whole  living,  breathing  world,  with  its  infi- 
nite blue  heavens,  its  abounding  rivers,  its  waving 
corn-fields,  its  heaving  seas,  and  all  that  is  therein, 
had  been  shrivelled  into  a  map  of  estates,  in  which 
nothing  was  of  importance  but  the  dividing  lines. 
These  "  dividing  lines  "  of  her  system  might,  for 
aught  I  knew,  be  correct  enough,  might  be  those  of 
the  Bible  itself;  but  the  awful  Omnipresence,  the 
real  holy  indignation  against  wrong,  the  love,  the 
life,  the  yearning,  pitying,  repenting,  immutably 
just,  yet  tenderly  forgiving  heart  which  beats  in 
every  page  of  the  Bible,  had  vanished  altogether. 
All  the  while  she  spoke,  as  it  were  in  spite  of  my- 
self, the  words  kept  running  through  my  head, 
"  They  that  make  them  are  like  unto  them." 
At  the  close  she  said,  turning  to  Aunt  Gretel, — 
"  I  think  I  have  stated  the  gospel  clearly.  I  only 
hope  Cousin  Roger  understands  it." 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  my  dear,"  said  x\unt 
Gretel  (for  Aunt  Gretel,  being  always  afraid  of  in 
some  way  compromising  Dr.  Luther  by  any  confu- 
sion in  her  theological  statements,  seldom  ventured 
out  of  the  text  of  Scrijjture).  "  I  am  sure,  my  dear, 
I  do  not  know.  I  am  no  theologian.  And  it  is  a 
blessing  that  the  Holy  Scriptures  provide  what  Dr. 
Luther  calls  a  gospel  in  miniature  for  those  who  are 
no  theologians :  '  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He 
gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  be- 
lieveth  in  Him  should  not  j^erish,  but  have  ever- 
lasting life.'     That  is  my  gospel,  my  ;lcar.     It  la 


TIIE  DA  VEKANTS. 


175 


sliorter,  you  see,  than  yours,  and  I  think  rather  Let- 
ter news ;  especially  for  the  "wandering  sheep  and 
prodigal  sons,  and  all  the  people  outside,  and  for  those 
who,  like  me,  trust  they  have  come  back,  but  still 
feel,  as  I  do,  very  apt  to  go  v/rong  again." 

"  Mr.  Nicholls  always  says  I  have  rather  a  re- 
markably clear  head  for  theology,"  said  Placidia. 
"  But  gifts  differ,  and  we  have  none  of  us  anything 
to  be  proud  of." 

"  N"o  doubt,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Gretel.  "  At 
least  I  am  sure  I  have  not.  But  I  cannot  say  I 
think  the  punishment,  or  at  least  the  sad  conse- 
quences of  sin  are  all  exactly  taken  away  for  us,  at 
least  in  this  life.  For  instance,  there  is  Gammer 
Grindle's  grandchild,  poor  Cicely,  as  pretty  a  girl 
as  ever  danced  around  the  May-pole,  that  people  say 
Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  tempted  away  to  London,  and 
left  to  no  one  knows  what  misery  there.  (If  it  was 
not  Sir  Launcelot,  may  I  be  forgiven  for  joining  in 
an  unjust  accusation ;  but  he  was  seen  speaking  to 
her  the  evening  before  she  left.)  Now  if  Sir  Launce- 
lot were  to  repent,  as  I  pray  he  may,  that  would  not 
bring  back  the  lost  innocence  to  little  Cicely  ;  nor 
do  I  see  how  the  thought  of  her  could  ever  brinof 
anything  but  a  bitter  agony  of  remorse  to  him." 

(•'  Ah,"  interposed  Aunt  Dorothy,  who  had  join- 
ed us,  "  /  did  speak  my  mind,  I  am  thankful  to  say, 
about  those  May-poles.") 

"  What  is  forgiveness,  then  ?  "  resumed  Placidia. 
"  And  what  is  the  good  of  being  religious,  if  we  are 
to  be  punished  just  the  same  as  if  we  were  not  for- 
giveu  ?  " 


1 76  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

"  The  blessing  of  forgiveness,"  said  Aunt  Doro- 
thy, "  is  being  forgiven  ;  and  the  good  of  being  godly 
is,  I  should  think,  being  godly/' 

"  Forgiveness,  my  dear,"  added  Aunt  Gretel, 
"  What  is  forgiveness  ?  It  is  welcome  back  to  the 
Father's  heart.  It  is  the  curse  borne  for  us  and 
taken  from  us  out  of  everything,  out  of  death  itself 
It  is  God  with  us  against  all  our  sins,  God  for  us 
against  all  our  real  foes.  It  is  the  broken  link  re- 
knit  between  us  and  God.  It  is  the  link  broken  be- 
tween us  and  sin.  What  would  you  have  better  ? 
What  could  you  have  more  ?  Once  on  the  Father's 
heart,  can  we  not  well  leave  it  to  Him  to  decide 
what  pain  we  can  be  spared,  and  what  we  can  not 
be  spared,  without  so  much  the  more  sin^  which  is 
so  infinitely  worse  than  any  pain." 

"My  theology,"  Aunt  Dorothy  continued,  "  is  the 
doctrine  Nathan  taught  when  he  said  to  David, 
'  The  Lord  hath  put  away  thy  sin,  but  the  child 
shall  die,' — and  to  the  Apostle  Paul  when  he  wrote, 
'  God  is  not  mocked  ;  whatsoever  a  man  soweth  that 
shall  he  also  reap  : '  the  theology  our  fathers  taught 
us;  no  gospel  o^  tolerating  sin,  but  o^  forgiving  and 
destroying  it.  '  Christ  has  redeemed  us  from  the 
curse  of  the  law,  being  made  a  curse  for  us.'  He 
has  brought  us  under  the  rod  of  the  covenant,  hav- 
ing Himself '  learned  obedience  through  the  things 
which  He  sufiered.'  There  is  as  much  mercy  and  as 
much  justice  in  one  as  in  the  other.  I  hope,  my 
dear,"  she  concluded,  "  you  and  IMi-.  Nicholls  do  in- 
deed understand  the  gospeh  But,  I  confess,  people 
who  get  into  the  Covenant  so  very  easily  do  puzzle 


THE  DA  VEyANTS.  1 7  7 

me.  Tliey  say  the  anguish  all  but  cost  Dr.  Luther 
his  life,  and  Mr,  Cromwell  his  reason." 

Placidia,  from  her  double  height  of  spiritual  se- 
renity and  semi-clerical  dignity,  looked  mildly  down 
on  Aunt  Dorothy's  suggestions. 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,"  said  she,  "  I  have  often  thought, 
you  scarcely  comprehend  Mr.  Nicholls  and  me. 
But  it  is  written,  'Woe  unto  you  when  all  men 
speak  well  of  you.'  And  as  to  Cousin  Roger's  Gos- 
pel, I  should  call  it  simply  the  Law." 

Soon  after  Placidia  rose  to  leave.  But  as  she  was 
putting  cm  her  mufflers,  she  remarked,  as  if  the 
thought  had  just  occurred  to  her, — 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,  those  three  beautiful  cows  Uncle 
Drayton  gave  me,  I  am  a  little  anxious  about  them  : 
the  glebe  farm  is  on  high  ground,  and  the  grass  is 
not  so  rich  as  they  have  been  used  to,  and  I  was 
saying  to  Mr.  Nicholls  yesterday  morning  that  I 
was  sure  Uncle  Drayton  would  be  quite  distressed 
if  he  saw  how  much  less  yellow  and  rich  the  butter 
was  than  it  used  to  be.  And  Mr.  Nicholls  said  he 
quite  felt  with  me.  And  Uncle  Drayton  is  always 
so  kind.  So  I  said  I  thought  I  had  better  be  quite 
frank  with  Uncle  Drayton.  You  know  I  always  am 
frank,  and  speak  out  what  I  think.  It  is  no  merit 
in  me.  It  is  my  nature,  and  I  cannot  help  it.  And 
Mr.  N-icholls  said  he  thought  I  had.  And  yester- 
day evening  it  happened  that  we  were  passing  the 
meadow  by  the  Mere,  and  there  were  no  cattle  on 
it.  And  I  said  to  Mr.  Nicholls  at  once,  what  a  pity 
that  beautiful  grass  should  run  to  seed,  and  our 
butter  be  such  a  poor  colour.     And  Mr.  Nicholls 


1 78  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

saw  it  at  once.  And  he  advised  me — or  I  suggest- 
ed and  be  approved  of  it,  I  cannot  be  certain  which 
(and  I  am  always  so  anxious  to  report  everything 
exactly  as  it  happened) — at  once  to  go  to  Uncle 
Drayton  and  ask  him  if  he  would  allow  our  three 
cows  just  to  stand  for  a  little  while  in  that  meadow, 
while  there  are  no  other  cattle  to  put  in  it,  just  to 
prevent  the  pasture  running  to  waste,  which  I  know 
would  be  quite  a  trouble  to  Uncle  Draytou  if  he 
thought  of  it,  only  no  one  can  be  in  every  place  at 
once,  and  no  doubt  he  had  forgotten  it." 

"  Very  fexo  people's  eyes  can  be  in  every  j^lace  at 
once,  certainly,  Placidia,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  with 
point.  "  But  it  so  happens  that  your  uncle  had  not 
forgotten  that  meadow.  And  this  morning  Bob 
drove  all  our  cows  there." 

"  Oh,"  said  Placidia,  "  that  is  quite  enough.  I 
only  felt  naturally  anxious  that  nothing  should  be 
wasted,  especially  when  we  happened  to  be  wanting 
it.  But,  of  course,  a  poor  parson's  wife  cannot 
expect  such  butter  as  you  have  at  Netherby  ;  only 
I  always  remember  the  '  twelve  baskets,'  and  how 
important  it  is  '  nothing  should  be  lost,'  and  the 
virtuous  woman  at  the  end  of  the  Proverbs.  I  shall 
always  have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  you.  Aunt 
Dorothy,  for  making  me  learn  so  much  Scripture." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  you 
always  had  an  excellent  memory.  But  it  is  very 
important  with  the  Holy  Scriptures,  at  least  the 
English  version,  not  to  read  them  from  right  to 
left." 

So  Cousin  Placidia  departed,  leaving   Aunt  Dor- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


179 


othy  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  having  defeated  a 
plot. 

But  half  an  hour  afterwards  my  Father  came  in. 

"  Poor  Placidia,"  said  he,  "  I  met  her  on  her  way 
home,  and  I  really  was  quite  touched  by  her  grati- 
tude for  those  fcAV  cows  I  gave  her,  and  also  by  the 
feeling  she  expressed  about  Roger.  It  seems  the 
glebe  pasture  does  not  agree  with  the  beasts  as  well 
as  ours,  and  she  had  been  rather  troubled  about  the 
butter,  but  had  not  liked  to  speak  of  it,  especially 
when  we  were  in  such  anxiety  about  Roger.  It 
really  shows  more  delicacy  of  feeling  than  I  thought 
Placidia  possessed,  poor  child.  And  it  shows  how 
careful  we  ought  to  be  not  to  form  uncharitable 
judgments.  So  I  ordered  Bob  to  put  those  three 
cows  with  ours  in  the  Mere  meadow  for  a  little 
while." 

"  Did  Placidia  mention  the  Mere  meadow  ?"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  be  sure,  but  I  think  she  did ; 
and  I   think  it  was  a  very  sensible  notion." 

"  What  did  Bob  say  ?"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  grimly. 

"  Bob  spoke  rather  sharply,"  said  my  Father ;  "  he 
is  apt  to  be  very  free-spoken  at  times ;  he  said  he 
had  like  to  look  well  to  our  pastures  if  we  were  to 
give  change  of  au-  to  ail  Mistress  Nicholl's  cattle. 
It  was  not  likely.  Bob  thought,  they  would  be  in 
any  hurry  to  change  back  again." 

"  Well,  there  are  men,"  murmured  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"who  are  as  harmless  as  doves,  and  there  are  women 
who  are  as  wise  as  serpents.  And  the  less  the  two 
meet   the   better.     I  don't  care   i  rush  who  feeds 


1 80  TffF  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Placidia's  cows;  but  it  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear  that  she  thinks  no  one  sees  through  her 
schemes." 

But  Placidia  had  triumphed.  And  the  parsonage 
cows  never  needed  any  further  change  of  residence. 

It  irks  me  somewhat  to  intertwine  these  rough 
dark  threads  with  the  story  of  those  so  dear  to  me, 
but  the  whole  would  drop  into  unmeaningness 
without  them.  Placidia  and  Mr.  JSTicholls  made 
many  a  calumny  of  the  enemy's  comprehensible  to 
me.  For  in  later  days  it  became  the  fashion  to  as- 
sert that  characters  of  that  stamp  formed  the  staple 
of  our  Commonwealth  men  and  women.  Characters 
of  this  stamp  win  Naseby  and  Worcester !  save 
the  persecuted  Vaudois  !  make  England  the  rever- 
ence of  the  world  !  conceive  the  "  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," the  "  Areopagitica,"  and  the  "  Living  Tem- 
ple !"  sacrifice  two  thousand  livings  for  conscience 
sake! 

No !  Pharisees,  doubtless,  there  were  among  us, 
as,  alas,  doubtless  there  is  the  root  of  Pharisaism 
within  us.  But  they  were  of  the  make  of  Saul 
tbe  disciple  of  Gamaliel,  not  of  those  who  tithed 
the  "  mint,  anise,  and  cummin." 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  that  Placidia's  "  Gospel" 
was  more  likely  to  be  fulfilled  in  Rogei''s  case  than 
his  own  forebodings. 

Good  seemed  to  come  out  of  that  hasty  act  of 
his  rather  than  evil.  The  feeling  he,  usually  so  self- 
repressing,  had  shown  about  Sir  Launcelot,  revealed 
him  in  a  new  liglit  to  Lady  Lucy. 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  i  %  i 

"  I  thought  him  rather  stony,  I  must  confess,"  she 
said ;  "  but  now  I  see  it  was  only  a  little  of  your 
Puritan  ice,  if  I  may  say  so  without  offence ;  and 
that  there  is  an  ocean  of  feeling  below.  My  dear, 
now  all  has  ended  well,  he  really  must  not  take  it 
so  much  to  heart.  He  has  grown  too  grave.  We 
cannot  have  precisely  the  same  standard  for  young 
men,  with  all  their  temptations  and  strong  passions, 
as  for  sweet  innocent  girls  sheltered  tenderly  in 
homes,  with  our  softer  natures,  I  should  always 
wish  to  be  severe  to  myself.  But  young  men ;  ah, 
my  child,  the  king  is  a  good  man,  but  if  you  had 
seen  a  little  even  of  our  Court,  you  would  think 
Roger  an  angel." 

Compared  with  Sir*  Launcelot,  I  most  sincerely 
believed  he  was.  But  this  double  standard  was 
unknown  iu  our  Puritan  home.  One  law  of  right- 
eousness, and  purity,  and  goodness  we  knew,  and 
only  one,  for  man  and  woman.  And  in  this  I  learned 
to  think  Aunt  Dorothy's  grimmest  sternness  more 
pitiful  than  Lady  Lucy's  pity.  I  do  not  wish  to  set 
down  what  seemed  to  me  Lady  Lucy's  mistakes 
to  any  sect  or  any  doctrine.  In  theory  all  Christian 
sects  are  agreed  ns  to  the  moral  standard.  But  I 
believe  in  my  heart  it  was  the  high  moral  standard 
set  up,  in  those  days,  chiefly  (never  only)  in  our 
Puritan  homes,  which  will  be  the  salvation  of 
Englaryil,  if  ever  that  pest-house,  called  the  Court, 
is  to  be  cleansed,  and  if  England  ever  is  to  be 
saved. 

Lady  Lucy's  religion  was  one  of  tender,  devo- 
tional emotions,  minute  ceremonial,  and  gorgeous 
16 


182 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


ritual.  When  braced  up  by  Christian  principle,  it 
was  beautiful  and  attractive.  The  Puritan  religion 
was  one  of  principle  and  doctrine.  When  inspired 
by  Divine  love,  it  was  gloriously  deep  and  strong. 

Meantime,  with  Sir  Walter  and  his  boys,  Roger 
had  manifestly  risen  many  degrees  by  his  "  spirited 
conduct."  Sir  Launcelot's  jests,  they  admitted, 
could  bite,  and  it  was  just  as  well  he  should  have  a 
lesson,  though  rather  a  severe  one. 

Sir  Launcelot  himself,  moreover,  took  a  far  differ- 
ent demeanour  towards  Roger.  "  Saints  with  that 
amount  of  fire  in  their  temper,"  he  observed, 
"  might  be  dangerous,  but  were  certainly  not  des- 
picable." 

And  as  to  Lettice,  whose  moral  code  was  chival- 
rous rather  than  Scriptural,  and  to  whom  generosity 
was  a  far  more  admirable  virtue  than  justice,  and 
honour  a  more  glorious  thing  than  duty,  she  said 
candidly  she  was  delighted  Roger  had  lost  his  temper 
for  once,  just  to  show  every  one  how  much  heart 
and  spirit  he  had. 

"  You  and  I  knew  what  he  was,  Olive,"  said  she ; 
"  but  I  wanted  the  rest  to  feel  it  too." 

And  yet  there  was  something  lost.  Slowly  I 
grew  to  see  and  feel  it. 

Firstly,  in  the  relative  position  of  Roger  and  Sir 
Launcelot.  Deeds  of  violence  inevitably  place  the 
one  who  does  them  morally  below  the  one  who  suf- 
fers. There  had  been  a  real  honour  to  Roger  in  Sir 
Launcelot's  previous  mockery  ;  there  was  a  real  dis- 
honour in  the  assumption  he  now  made  that  Roger 
stood  on  his  own  level.     Moi'ecver,  Roger's  own 


TEE  BAY  EN  ANTS.  183 

generous  self-reproach  deprived  him  of  the  power 
of  retort. 

And  secondly  (but  chiefly),  in  Lettice's  altered 
feeling  about  Sir  Launcelot.  Roger  never  spoke  of 
him ;  but  now  that  he  had  recovered,  I  felt  that 
I  could  not  forget  how,  by  Lettice's  own  ac- 
count, he  had  pi'ovoked  the  blow ;  nor  could  I  see 
that  the  fact  of  his  having  received  a  blow  which 
he  had  provoked  in  any  way  made  his  character 
different  from  what  it  had  been.  Many  debates  we 
had  on  the  subject,  for  we  met  often  during  those 
weeks — those  weeks  of  winter  and  early  spring, 
when  the  whole  nation  was  in  suspense  about  Lord 
Strafford's  trial,  watching  during  the  ploughing 
and  sowing  of  the  year  the  solemn  reaping  of  the 
harvest  he  had  sown.  One  of  these  debates  in  par- 
ticular I  remember,  because  of  the  way  in  which  it 
closed. 

It  was  on  Thursday,  the  13th  of  May  (1641).  We 
had  met  in  the  wood  by  the  Lady  WelL  There 
seemed  a  marvellous  melody  that  day  in  the  music 
of  the  little  spring,  as  it  bubbled  up  into  its  stone 
trough,  and  echoed  back  from  the  stone  roof  of  the 
little  sacred  cell  the  monks  had  lovingly  made  for 
it  seven  hundred  years  ago.  The  inscription  could 
still  be  read  on  the  front : — 

"  Ut  jucundas  cervus  undaa 
^stuans  desiderat. 
Sic  ad  rivum  Dei  vivmo 
Mens  fidelis  properat." 

Lettice  and  I  knelt  and  listened  to  it. 

"  It  is  as  if  all  the  bells  in  fary-laud  were  ring- 


J84. 


THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 


mg,"  said  slie  at  length,  softly ;  "  only  hear  how 
the  soft  peals  rise  and  fall,  and  go  and  come,  and 
how  one  sound  drops  into  another,  and  blends  with 
it,  and  flows  away  and  comes  back,  and  meets  tho 
next,  until  there  is  no  following  them." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  there  mvist  have  been  choh'S  and 
church-bells  in  fliiry-land,  for  there  is  surely  some- 
thing sad  and  sacred  in  the  sound.  It  sounds  to  me 
like  those  bells  the  legends  tell  us  of,  buried  be- 
neath the  sea,  tolling  up  to  us  from  far  beneath  the 
dark  waters  of  the  past." 

Then  Lettice  fastened  back  her  long  hair,  and 
stooped  down  and  drank  of  the  crystal  water,  bath- 
ing her  face  as  she  drank. 

"Those  Israciitish  soldiers  understood  how  to 
enjoy  w^ater,"  said  she,  rising  from  her  draught. 
"  That  is  delicious." 

For  we  were  tired  and  thirsty  wuth  gathering 
lapfuls  of  the  blue-bells,  of  which  the  woods  were 
full. 

As  she  stood,  her  moist  parted  lips,  the  rich  glow 
on  her  checks,  her  eyes  dancing  with  life,  her  arras 
full  of  flowers,  she  said, — 

"It  never  seems  enough  to  look  at  the  beautifid 
world,  Olive.  I  seem  to  want  another  sense  for  it. 
I  want  to  drink  of  it  like  this  spring;  to  take  it  to 
my  heart,  as  I  do  these  flowers.  And  1  su25pose 
that  is  why  I  delight  to  gather  them,  just  as  when 
I  was  a  little  child.     Do  you  understand  ?" 

I  did ;  but  I  thought  of  the  inscription  on  the 
Lady  Well. 

"  I  sui^posc  we  do  want  to  get  nearer,  Lettice,"  I 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS 


185 


said ;  "  we  want  to  drink  of  the  Fountain.     We 
want  to  rest  on  the  Heart." 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  what  this  strange  unsatis- 
fied longing  means,"  said  she,  "  which  all  great  joys 
and  all  very  beautiful  things  give  me  ?" 

For  a  few  moments  she  was  silent.  Then  she 
said, — 

"  Wliat  life  there  is  everywhere  !  Everything 
seems  filled  too  full  of  joy,  and  brimming  over — the 
birds  into  songs,  the  fields  into  flowers,  and  the 
trees  into  leaves,  the  oldest  and  gayest  of  them. 
And  I  feel  just  like  them  all,  Olive.  On  such  a 
morning  one  must  love  every  one  and  everything, 
altogether  regardless  of  their  being  lovable,  just  for 
the  sake  of  loving.  Olive,"  she  added,  with  one  of 
her  sudden  turns  of  thought,  "  to-day  you  must  for- 
give Sir  Launcelot  from  the  very  bottom  of  youi' 
heart,  once  for  all." 

"  Oh,  Lettico,"  said  I,  "  I  do  forgive  him.  I  really 
think  I  did,  long  since ;  at  least  for  everything  but 
his  forgiving  Roger  in  that  gracious  way,  as  if  Rog- 
er had  nothing  to  forgive  him.  I  have  forgiven 
him,  but  I  cannot  think  him  good." 

"  Ungenerous  !"  said  she,  half  in  jest  and  half  in 
earnest ;  "  you  ought  to  think  every  one  good  on 
such  a  morning  as  this.  Besides,  Sir  Launcelot 
always  speaks  so  kindly  and  generously  of  you :  he 
says  you  are  goodness  itself" 

"  I  cannot  think  what  is  not  true,  just  because  the 
sun  shines  and  the  birds  sing,"  said  I,  "  and  I  cer- 
tainly cannot  think  any  one  good  because  they  call 
me  good,  or  goodness  itself.     How  can  I,  Lettlcc  ?   " 
16* 


,  8  6  THE  DBA  YTONS  A  ND 

How  can  I  believe  a  thing  because  I  wisli  to  be- 
lieve it  ?" 

"Truth,  truth  !"  said  she,  a  little  petulantly 
"truth  and  duty,  and  right  and  wrong,  I  Avish 
those  cold  words  were  not  so  often  on  your  lips. 
There  are  others  so  much  wanner  and  more  beauti- 
ful— nobleness  and  generosity,  and  loyalty  and  de- 
votion, those  are  the  things  I  love.  Yours  is  a 
world  of  daylight,  Olive.  I  like  sunshine,  glowing 
morning  and  evening  like  I'ubics  and  opals,  veiling 
the  distance  at  noon  with  its  own  glorious  haze.  I 
hate  always  to  see  everything  exactly  as  it  is,  even 
beautiful  things  ;  and  ugly  things  I  never  will  see, 
if  I  can  help  it." 

"I  love  to  see  everything  exactly  as  it  is,"  said  I; 
*'  I  want,  and  I  pray,  to  see  everything  as  it  is.  And 
in  the  end  I  am  sure  that  is  the  way  to  see  the  real 
beauty  of  everything  in  the  world.  For  God  has 
made  it,  and  not  the  devil.  And  therefore  we  need 
never  be  afraid  to  look  into  things.  And  I  shall 
always  think  truth  and  duty  the  most  beautiful 
words  in  the  Avorld." 

"  Very  pretty  !"  said  she  perversely ,  "  and  under 
all  those  beautiful  words  you  bury  the  fact  that  you 
will  never  forgive  j^oor  Sir  Launcolot." 

"  I  have  long  forgiven  him,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  can- 
not think  him  good,  if  I  tried  for  ever,  until  he  is. 
I  cannot  help  thinking  of  poor  little  Cicely,  Gam- 
mer Grindle's  grandchild,  wandering  lost  in  I-oii- 
don." 

"  Hush,  Olive,  hush,"  said  she  passionately,  "  that 
IB  ungenerous  and  unkind      I  will  not  listen  to  vil- 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS. 


187 


lage  gossip.  My  Mother  says  Ave  must  not  be  harsh 
in  judging  those  whose  temptations  we  cannot  es- 
timate. But  slie  means  to  do  all  she  can  in  London 
to  help  poor  Cicely." 

"  Oh,  Lcttice,"  said  1,  '•  it  is  not  a  question  of 
7nore  or  less  pity,  but  oi'  who  needs  our  pity  most." 

"  You  are  all  alike,"  she  rejoined ;  "  yet  I  love 
you  all,  and  I  love  you,  Olive,  dearly.  Without 
your  Puritan  training,  Olive,  you  and  Roger  would 
have  been  the  best  people  and  the  pleasantest  in 
the  world ;  but  as  my  Mother  says,  all  these  severe 
docti'ines  about  law,  and  justice,  and  conscience,  do 
make  people  harsh  in  judging  others,  and  bitter  in 
resenting  wrong." 

I  could  say  no  more.  She  had  taken  refuge  un- 
der the  shadow  of  Roger's  hasty  act,  and  the  argu- 
ment was  closed. 

When  we  reached  Davenant  Hall  an  unusual 
crowd  was  gathered  at  the  front  door — a  silent  ea- 
ger throng — around  a  horseman  whose  horse  was 
covered  with  foam,  from  the  speed  with  which  he 
had  come.  It  was  Harry  Davenant.  And  the 
tidings  he  brought  were  that  on  yesterday  morning 
Lord  Straiford  had  been  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill, 
a  hundred  thousand  people  gathered  there  to  see ; 
but  through  all  the  silent  multitude  neither  sighs 
of  sympathy  nor  sounds  of  triumph. 

The  servants  silently  disj^ersed.  Harry's  horse 
was  led  to  the  stables,  and  we  went  in  with  Lady 
Lucy,  Sir  Walter,  and  Sir  Launcelot,  into  the  hall. 

"  That  is  what  they  were  doing  in  London  Avliile 
we  were  gathering  blue-bells !"  said  Lettice.     And 


1 8  8  THE  DRA  YTONS  A  ND 

she  threw  her  flowers  on  the  stone  floor.  "  1  will 
never  gather  any  more." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into 
tears—"  Cruel,  cruel,"  she  said,  "  of  the  king,  of  the 
queen,  to  let  him  die." 

"It  was  the  Parliament  which  hunted  him  to 
death,"  said  Harry,  bitterly.  "And  the  king  did 
try  to  save  him." 

"  The  Parliament  is  wicked,  and  hated  him,  and 
I  don't  care  what  they  did,"  said  Lettice,  looking 
up  with  a  flushed  face ;  "  but  the  king,  oh.  Mother, 
you  said  the  king  would  never  let  Lord  Strafford 
die.  What  is  the  use  of  being  a  king  if  kings  can 
only  try  to  do  things  like  other  people.  I  thought 
kings  could  do  the  things  they  thought  right.  He 
was  faithful  to  the  king,  was  he  not,  Mother  ?" 

"  A  devoted  servant  to  the  king  Lord  Strafford 
surely  was,"  said  Lady  Lucy,  "whether  a  good 
counsellor  or  no.  I  did  not  think  the  king  would 
have  given  him  up.  Did  no  one  plead  for  him  ?" 
she  asked. 

"He  pleaded  with  a  wonderful  eloquence  for 
himself,"  said  Harry  Davenant,  "  that  might  well- 
nigh  have  turned  the  heads  of  his  bitterest  enemies, 
and  did  win  the  hearts  of  every  one  who  heard 
him." 

"  But  the  king  did  try  to  save  him  ?"  said  Lady 
Lucy,  clinging  to  this. 

"The  king  called  his  privy  council  together," 
said  Harry  Davenant,  "  last  Sunday,  when  the  bill 
of  attainder  had  passed  through  the  Lords  and  Com- 
mons, and  said  he  had  doubts  and  scruples  about 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS.  \  89 

assenting  to  it,  and  asked  their  advice.  Dr.  Jiixon, 
Bishop  of  London,  counselled  him  never  to  consent 
to  the  shedding  of  what  he  believed  innocent  blood. 
But  the  rest  of  the  council  advised  him  to  yield. — 
And  the  king  yielded." 

"Some  people,"  he  continued,  "think  the  king 
was  justified  by  a  letter  the  earl  wrote  him  on  the 
Tuesday  before,  wherein  he  offered  his  life  in  this 
world  to  the  king  with  all  cheerfulness  ;  nay,  even 
counselled  the  sacrifice  to  reconcile  him  to  his 
people,  saying,  '  To  a  willing  man  there  is  no  injury 
done.' " 

"  Oh,  Harry,"  said  Lettice,  "  the  king  could  give 
him  up  after  that  .^" 

"  It  is  said  the  eafl  scarcely  believed  it  when  he 
heard  it,  and  that  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart  and 
exclaimed,  '  Put  not  your  trust  in  princes.'  " 

"  And  well  he  might !"  exclaimed  Lettice,  her 
tears  dried  by  the  fire  of  her  indignation. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush !"  said  Lady  Lucy. 

"Tlie  king  made  another  effort  to  save  him," 
Harry  continued;  "  he  wrote  to  the  Lords  recom- 
mending imprisonment  instead  of  death ;  and '  at 
the  end  of  the  letter  he  added  a  postscript :  '  If  he 
must  die,  it  were  charity  to  relieve  him  till  Satur- 
day.' " 

'  A  miserable,  cold  request !"  exclaimed  Lettice, 
vehemently ;  "  more  cruel  than  the  sentence." 

"  I  would  have  expected  this  from  his  father," 
murmured  Sir  Walter,  "  but  not  from  the  king." 
Then  turning  from  a  painful  subject,  he  added, 
"  The  carl  died  bravely,  no  doubt." 


1  po  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

"  As  he  passed  the  windows  of  the  chamber  where 
Archbishop  Laud  was,  he  bowed  to  receive  his 
blessing,  and  he  said,  '  Farewell,  my  lord,  God  pro- 
tect your  innocence,'  He  marched  to  the  Tower 
Hill  more  with  the  beai'ing  of  a  general  leading  liis 
army,  than  a  sentenced  man  moving  to  the  scaffold. 
At  the  Tower  Gate  the  lieutenant  desired  him  to 
take  coach,  fearing  the  violence  of  the  people,  but 
the  earl  refused :  '  I  dare  look  death  in  the  face,' 
said  he, 'and  I  hope  the  peo2ole  do.  Have  you  a 
care  I  do  not  escape,  and  I  care  not  how  1  die, 
whether  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner  or  by  the 
madness  of  the  people.  If  that  give  them  better 
content,  it  is  all  one  to  me.'  And  so,  after  protest- 
ing his  innocence,  saying  he  forgave  all  the  world, 
and  sending  a  few  affectionate  words  to  his  wife 
and  four  children,  he  laid  his  head  on  the  block. 
There  was  no  base  triumphing  in  the  crowd,  I 
will  say  that  for  them ;  they  behaved  like  English- 
men. The  earl  fell  in  silence.  But  in  the  evening 
the  brutish  populace  cried  out  in  exultation,  '  His 
head  is  off !  his  head  is  off !'  and  the  city  was  blaz- 
ing with  bonfires.  The  people  feel  they  have  gain- 
ed the  first  step  in  a  victory.  The  Court  thinks  it 
has  made  the  furthermost  stej?  in  concession,  and 
that  thenceforward  all  must  be  peace.  Would  to 
heaven  the  king  and  the  Court  might  be  right ;  but 
it  is  hard  to  say." 

It  was  dusk  before  all  this  converse  was  ended 
and  I  left  the  Hall.  Harry  Davenant  persisted  in 
guarding  me  across  the  fields  to  Netherby,  until  we 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS. 


191 


came  to  the  high  road  close  to  the  house.  There 
he  took  leave. 

"  My  Father  -would  like  to  see  you,"  I  said. 

"  Mr.  Drayton  Avould  be  courteous  to  his  mortal 
enemy,"  said  he. 

"  We  are  not  enemies,"  I  said,  a  little  pained. 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I  had  better 
not  come,  not  to-day.  The  fall  of  the  earl  scarcely 
means  the  same  thing  in  your  home  as  in  ours." 

"There  will  be  no  mean  triumphing  over  Lord 
Strafford's  death  at  Netherby,"  I  said,  with  some 
indignation. 

"  There  will  be  no  low,  or  ungenerous,  or  mean 
thing  said  by  one  of  the  Draytons !"  he  said,  warm- 
ly. "  But  I  had  better  not  see  Mr.  Drayton  this 
evening." 

And  waving  his  plumed  hat,  he  vaulted  over  the 
stile  ;  and  I  felt  he  was  right.  Looking  back  at  the 
turn  leading  to  the  house,  I  saw  he  was  watching 
me  from  the  field.  But  as  I  turned  the  corner  and 
came  in  sight  of  the  gables  of  the  Manor,  a  forebod- 
ing came  on  me,  as  of  siftings  and  severings  to 
come — of  a  few  pebbles,  or  a  few  rushes,  gently 
giving  the  slightest  turn  to  the  course  of  the  two 
little  trickling  springs,  and  their  waters  flowing, 
ever  after,  by  different  banks,  and  falling  at  last 
into  the  oceans  which  Avash  the  shores  of  opposite 
worlds.  But  not  Lettice,  never  Lettice  ;  the  whole 
world,  I  thought,  should  be  no  l)arrier  to  sever  us 
from  Lettice  !  Nor  should  all  the  political  or  ec- 
clesiastical differences  in  the  world  ever  check  or 
chill  the  current  of  our  love  and  reverence  to  all  the 


192 


THE  DBA  YTONS,  ETC. 


tnie,  and  brave,  and  just,  and  good,  and  godly. 
For  politics,  even  ecclesiastical  politics,  are  of  time ; 
but  truth,  and  courage,  and  justice,  and  goodness, 
and  godliness,  are  of  God,  and  are  eternal. 


Chapter  VI. 


HE  six  months  of  the  year  1641,  from 
early  May  till  November,  shine  back  on 
n\e  beyond  the  stormy  years  which  part 
them  from  us,  like  a  meadow  bright 
with  dew  and  sunshine  on  the  edge  of  a  dark  and 
heaving  sea.  Beyond  those  months,  in  the  further 
distance,  stretches  the  dim  Eden  of  childhood,  with 
its  legends  and  its  mysteries,  and  its  gates  of  Para- 
dise scarcely  closed.  Bordering  them,  on  the  fur- 
ther side,  glooms  the  broad  shadow  of  Roger's 
temptation  and  bitter  repentance.  On  the  hither 
side  heaves  the  great  intervening  sea  of  civil  war. 
But  through  all,  that  little  sunny  space  beams  out, 
peaceful,  as  if  no  stormy  waves  beat  against  it; 
distinct,  as  if  no  long  space  of  life  parted  it  from 
us. 

Did  I  say  childhood  was  the  Eden  ?  Then  youth 
is  the  "  garden  planted  eastward  in  Eden,"  the  Para- 
dise which  "  the  Lord  God  plants  "  in  the  outset  of 
the  dullest  or  stormiest  life,  where  the  river  which 
compasseth  the  land  flows  over  golden  sands,  "  and 
17  (I'JS) 


194 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


the  gold  of  that  land  is  good."  Not  childhood, 
surely,  but  early  youth,  "  the  youth  of  youth,"  is 
the  golden  age  of  life.  Childhood  is  the  twilight. 
Youth  is  the  beautiful  dawn.  Childhood  is  the 
dream  and  the  struggling  out  of  it ;  youth  is  the 
conscious,  joyful  waking.  If  childhood  has  its  fairy 
robes  spun  out  of  every  gossamer,  its  fairy  treasures 
in  every  leaf;  it  has  also  its  eerie  terrors  woven  of 
the  twilight  shadows,  its  overwhelming  torrents  of 
sorrow  having  theu*  fountains  in  an  April  shower, 
as  it  steps  uncertainly  through  the  unknown  world. 
And  neither  its  joys,  nor  its  sorrows,  nor  its  terrors, 
nor  its  treasures,  can  it  uttei'. 

Childhood  is  the  dim  Colchis  where  the  Golden 
Fleece  lies  hidden ;  youth  is  the  Jason  that  brings 
thence  the  "Argosy."  Childhood  is  the  sweet 
shadowy  Hesperides,  lying  dreamily  in  the  tropic 
sunshine,  where  the  golden  fruit  ripens  silently 
among  the  dark  and  glossy  leaves.  Youth  is  the  Hero 
who  penetrates  the  garden  and  makes  it  alive  with 
human  music,  and  wins  the  fruit  and  bears  it  forth 
into  the  free  wide  world.  If  childhood  is  the 
golden  age,  youth  is  the  heroic  age,  when  the  heart 
beats  high  with  the  first  consciousness  of  power, 
and  the  first  stir  of  half-conscious  hopes  ;  when  the 
earth  lies  before  us  as  a  field  of  glorious  adventure, 
and  the  heaven  spreads  above  us  a  space  for  bound- 
less flight;  before  we  have  learned  how  mixed 
earth's  armies  are,  how  slow  the  conquests  of  truth  ; 
how  seldom  we  can  fight  any  battle  here  without 
wounding  r-ome  we  would  fain  succour;  or  win  any 
victory   in   which    some    things   precious  as  those 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


^9'i 


borne  aloft  before  us  in  triumph,  are  not  trailed  in 
the  dust  behind  us,  dishonoured  and  lost. 

Not  that  the  most  vivid  and  golden  hopes  of 
youth  are  delusions.  God  forbid  that  I  should 
blaspheme  His  writing  on  the  heart  by  thinking  so 
for  an  instant !  It  is  but  that  the  Omniscient,  who 
knows  the  glorious  End  that  is  to  be,  sots  us  in 
youth  on  the  mountain-tops  to  breathe  the  pure  air 
of  heaven,  foi'eshortening  the  intervenino^  distance 
from  these  heights  of  hope  and  by  its  sunny  haze, 
as  eternity  foi'eshortens  it  to  Him ;  that,  forgetting 
the  things  that  are  behind,  and  overspanning  the 
things  that  are  between,  every  brave  and  trusting 
heart  may  go  down  into  the  battle-field  strong  in 
the  promise  of  the  End,  of  the  Triumph  of  Truth 
that  shall  yet  surely  be,  and  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Kighteousness  that  shall  one  day  surely  come. 

Such,  at  least,  was  youth  to  us ;  to  Lettice  Dave- 
nant,  and  Roger,  and  me.  And,  looking  back,  this 
sunny  time  of  youth  seems  all  gathered  up  into 
those  six  months  before  the  beginning  of  the  Civil 
War. 

For  we  were  continually  meeting  through  that 
summer;  and  the  land  was  quiet.  At  least  so  it 
seemed  to  us  at  Netherby. 

The  king  had  granted  Triennial  Parliaments ;  had 
granted  that  this  Parliament  should  never  be  dis- 
solved like  its  predecessors  by  his  arbitrary  will, 
but  only  with  its  own  consent ;  had  seemed,  indeed, 
ready  to  grant  anything.  Strafford,  the  strong  prop 
of  his  despotism,  had  fallen  ;  Archbishop  Laud,  his 
instigator  to  all  the  petty  irritations  of  tyranny^ 


196 


THE  DRAYT0N8  AND 


which  had  well-nigh  driven  the  nation  mad,  lay 
helpless  in  the  Tower;  the  unjust  judges,  who  had 
decreed  the  evil  decrees  about  ship-money,  had  fled, 
disgraced,  beyond  the  seas.  What  then  might  not 
be  hoped,  if  not  from  the  king's  active  good-will,  at 
least  from  his  passive  consent  ?  There  had,  indeed, 
been  an  attempt  to  bring  Pym  and  Hampden  into 
the  royal  councils,  and  if  this  had  not  quite  suc- 
ceeded, at  least  the  patriot  St.  John  was  solicitor- 
general. 

During  much  of  the  summer,  after  assenting  to 
everything  the  Parliament  proposed,  the  king  so- 
journed in  Scotland.  It  was  true  that  the  reports 
that  reached  us  thence  were  not  altogether  satisiiic- 
tory.  There  were  rumours  of  army-plots  encour- 
aged in  the  highest  quarters  ;  rumours  of  some  dark 
plot  called  "The  Incident,"  intending  treachery 
against  Argyle  and  others ;  of  His  Majesty  going 
with  five  hundred  armed  men  to  the  Scottish  Par- 
liament, to  the  great  offence  of  all  Edinbui-gh; 
rumours  that  the  English  Parliament,  hearing  of 
"  The  Incident,"  had  demanded  a  guard  against 
similar  outrages,  if  any  "  flagitious  persons  "  should 
attempt  them. 

But  for  the  most  part,  hope  predominated  over 
fear  with  us  at  Netherby.  One  thing  was  certain ; 
a  Parliament  alive  to  every  rumour  stood  on  guard 
for  the  nation  at  St.  Stephen's,  vowed  together  by 
a  solemn  "  Protestation "  to  do  or  sufler  ought 
rather  than  yield  our  ancient  rights  and  liberties, 
auci  until  the  note  of  warning  came  thence,  the 
nation  might  peacefully  pursue  its  daily  work ;  not 


THE  DA  VENAKTS. 


197 


asleep,  indeed,  and  with  arms  not  out  of  reach,  but 
for  the  present  called  not  to  contend,  but  to  work 
and  wait. 

There  was  just  enough  of  stir  in  the  air,  and  of 
storm  in  the  sky,  to  quicken  every  movement  with- 
out imjieding  it ;  to  take  all  languor  out  of  leisure, 
to  make  moments  of  intercourse  more  precious,  and 
friendships  ripen  more  quickly. 

We  were  still  one  nation,  we  owned  one  law,  one 
throne,  one  national  council.  We  were  still  one 
national  Church,  gathering  weekly  in  one  house  of 
prayer ;  kneeling,  at  least  at  Easter,  although  with 
Bome  scruples,  around  one  Holy  Table;  together 
confessing  ourselves  to  have  "  gone  astray  like  lost 
sheep ;"  together  giving  thanks  for  our  "  creation 
and  redemption ;"  kneeling  reverently,  and  with 
one  voice  saying,  "  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven ;" 
together  standing  as  confessors  of  one  Catholic 
faith,  and  with  one  voice  repeating  the  ancient 
creeds  ;  together  praying  (in  the  words  ordered  in 
King  James'  reign)  for  our  sovereign  lord  King 
Charles,  and  (in  the  form  his  own  reign  first  ap- 
pointed) for  the  High  Court  of  Parliament,  under 
him  assembled. 

There  were  indeed  words  and  postures  and  vest- 
ments which  were  not  to  the  liking  of  all,  which  to 
some  were  signs  of  irritating  defeat  and  to  others 
of  petty  triumph  ;  but  in  general — especially  since 
the  Book  of  Sports  had  been  silenced,  and  Arch- 
bishop Laud  had  been  kept  quiet  (and  Mr.  Nicholls 
had  forsaken  his  more  novel  practices) — there  was 
a  strong  tide  of  truth  and  devotion  in  the  ancient 
17* 


1 98  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

services,  which  swept  all  true  and  devout  hearts 
along  with  it. 

And  besides,  there  was,  at  this  period,  with  some 
of  the  Puritans,  a  hope  of  peacefully  affecting  some 
slight  further  reformation,  so  that  even  Aunt  Doro- 
thy was  less  controversial  than  usual;  contenting 
lierself  with  an  occasional  warning  against  going 
down  to  Egypt  for  horses,  or  against  Achans  in  the 
camp,  and  an  occasional  hope  that,  while  his  words 
were  smoother  than  butter,  the  enemy  had  not  war 
in  his  heart.  But  she  did  not  distinctly  explain 
whether  by  these  Achans  and  Egyptian  cavalry  she 
meant  Mr.  Nicholls,  Placidia,  Lady  Lucy,  Lettice 
and  the  king ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  the  little  band  of 
Separatists  or  Brownists  whom  we  met  from  time 
to  time  coming  from  their  worship  in  a  cottage  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  village,  against  whom  she  con- 
sidered my  Father  not  a  little  remiss  in  his  magis- 
terial duty.  These  apparently  inoffensive  people 
were  suspected  of  Anabaptist  tendencies.  Aunt 
Gretel  even  associated  them  in  her  own  mind  with 
some  very  dangerous  characters  of  the  same  name 
at  Miinster.  It  was,  indeed,  the  utmost  stretch  of 
her  toleration,  to  connive  at  our  Bob  and  Tib's 
occasional  attendance  at  their  assemblies ;  but  the 
consideration  of  Tib's  discreet  years,  and  Bob's 
discreet  character,  and  Aunt  Dorothy's  somewhat 
indiscreet  zeal,  had  hitherto  induced  her  to  do  so, 
her  conscience  being  further  fortified  by  my  Father's 
solemn  promise  to  bring  these  sectaries  to  justice  if 
ever  they  showed  the  slightest  tendency  towards 
polygamy  or  homicide.     They  consisted  chiefly  of 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


199 


small  freeholders  and  independent  hand-workers, 
the  tailor,  the  village  carpenter,  and  at  the  head. 
Job  Forstcr,  the  blacksmith  ;  Tib  and  Bob  were,  I 
think,  the  only  household  servants  among  them. 
They  were  few,  poor,  and  quiet,  doing  nothing  at 
their  meetings,  it  seemed,  but  read  the  Bible,  listen 
to  one  reading  or  explaining  it,  and  praying :  some 
among  them  having  scruples  as  to  whether  it  might 
not  be  a  carnal  indulgence  to  sing  hymns.  Occa- 
sionally they  were  strengthened  by  the  visit  of  a 
preacher  of  their  way  of  thinking  from  Suflblk, 
where  the  sect  was  more  numerous.  They  were 
good  to  each  other ;  not  hurtful  to  any  one  else. 
They  would  certainly,  every  one  of  them,  have  died 
or  gone  into  destitute  exile  for  the  minutest  scruple 
of  their  belief  or  disbelief,  being  satisfied  that  every 
thread  of  the  broidered  woi'k  of  their  tabernacle 
was  as  divinely  ordered  as  the  tables  of  the  law 
written  with  the  finger  of  God.  But  as  yet  there 
was  nothing  to  show  what  their  enthusiasm  would 
do  when  it  was  enkindled  to  action,  instead  of 
smouldering  in  passive  endurance  ;  nothing  to  show 
what  germs  of  vigorous  life  lay  dormant  in  that 
little  comjDany,  each  holding  his  commission,  as  he 
believed,  direct  from  God.  Yet  from  these,  and 
such  as  these,  at  the  touch  of  Oliver  Cromwell, 
sprang  into  life  that  crop  of  Ironsides  terrible  as 
Samsons,  chaste  as  Sir  Galahad,  unyielding  as 
Elijah  before  the  threats  of  Jezebel,  unsparing  as 
Elijah  with  the  proi>hets  of  Jezebel  on  Carmel, 
which  overthrew  power  after  poAver  in  the  state  ; 
made  England  the  greatest  power  in  the  world  * 


200  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

and  if  the  only  human  hand  that  could  command 
it  had  been  immortal,  might  have  ruled  England 
and  the  world  to  this  day. 

So  many  hidden  germs  of  life  lie  ai'ound  us  unde- 
veloped everywhere.  In  the  primeval  forests  of  tliis, 
our  New  England,  when  the  pines  are  felled,  a  suc- 
cession of  oaks  springs  up  self-sown  in  their  stead. 
If  the  pines  had  not  been  felled  what  would  have 
become  of  the  acorns  ?  Would  they  have  perished, 
or  waited  dormant  through  the  ages,  till  their  hour 
should  come  ? 

But  I  am  creeping  back  to  Roger's  ancient  puzzle 
of  Necessity,  wherewith  he  bewildered  me  of  old 
as  we  sat  in  the  apple-tree  at  Netberby. 

And  after  all,  however  these  things  be,  it  is  only 
the  king's  ministers  that  are  changed  in  the  univer- 
sal government  of  the  nations.  The  King  never 
dies. 

Meantime  these  sectaries  wei'e  the  only  outward 
schism  in  the  unity  of  the  Church  and  Nation,  as 
repi'esented  at  Netherby.  Korahs,  Dathans,  and 
Abirams,  Aunt  Dorothy  called  them,  or  (when  she 
was  most  displeased)  "Anabaptists,"  and  would 
(theoretically)  have  liked  them  to  be  made  exam- 
ples of  in  some  striking  and  uncomfortable  way ; 
harmless  enthusiasts  my  Father  called  them,  and  let 
them  alone ;  well-meaning  persons  with  dangerous 
tendencies,  Aunt  Gi-etel  considered  them,  and  made 
them  possets  and  broth  when  they  were  ill.  In 
Lady  Lucy's  eyes  they  Avere  misguided  schismatics  ; 
in  Sir  Walter's,  self-conceited  fools ;  in  Harry  Dave- 
nant's,  vulgar  fanatics.     Of  all  our  circle,  I  thinkj 


THE  D  A  VEX  A  NTS.  2  0 1 

none  cared  to  find  out  what  they  really  meant  and 
wanted,  except  Roger,  who,  especially  after  his  great 
trouble,  had  always  the  most  earnest  desire  not  to 
misjudge  any  one;  or,  indeed,  to  judge  any  one  as 
from  a  judgment-seat  above  them.  And  Roger  said 
they  believed  they  had  found  God,  and  were  living 
in  His  Presence,  as  truly  as  Moses,  or  Elijah,  or  any 
to  whom  He  appeared  of  old,  which  made  every- 
thing else  seem  to  them  infinitely  small  in  compari- 
son ;  that  they  wanted,  above  all  things,  to  do  what 
God  commanded,  whenever  they  knew  what  it  was, 
wdiich  made  every  homeliest  duty  on  the  way  to- 
wards that  end  seem  to  them  part  of  the  "  service 
of  the  sanctuary,"  any  mountain  of  difliculty  but 
as  the  small  dust  of  the  balance ;  every  obstacle  as 
the  chafi*  before  the  whirlwind.  Convictions  which 
gave  an  invincible  power  of  endurance,  and  could 
give  a  tremendous  force  of  achievement,  as  events 
proved. 

To  this  better  estimate  of  them,  Roger  was,  no 
doubt,  partly  led  by  his  friendshii^  for  Job  Forster. 
Job,  indeed,  through  the  whole  of  these  six  months, 
so  calm  and  full  of  hope  to  us  at  Netherby,  con- 
tinued to  forebode  storms.  "  The  weather  was  brew- 
ed," he  said,  "  on  the  hills  and  by  the  sea;  and  folks 
who  were  bred  on  the  flats,  out  of  sight  of  sea  and 
hills,  and  who  only  knew  one-half  of  the  world, 
could  not  reasonably  be  expected  to  understand  the 
signs  of  the  sky.  The  Lord,  in  his  belief,  had  jDlcnty 
of  work  to  do  on  his  anvil  yet,  before  the  swords 
were  beaten  into  ploughshares  and  the  spears  into 
pruning-hooks.      It   was   more   likely  the  plough- 


202  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

shares  would  have  to  be  beaten  into  ewords,  and 
pruning-hooks  into  spears." 

And  the  village  coulters,  spades,  and  mattocks, 
received  from  Job's  hammer  treatment  all  the  more 
vigorous  on  account  of  the  warlike  figures  they 
supplied. 

Moreover,  Rachel,  his  wife,  looking  out  from  her 
chamber-window  one  stormy  night  across  the  Fens, 
had  seen  wonders  in  the  heavens,  black-plumed 
clouds,  marshalled  like  armies,  rolling  far  away  to 
the  east,  till  the  rising  sun  smote  them  to  a  blood- 
red  ;  while  high  above,  from  behind  these,  one 
white-winged  arm,  as  of  an  archangel  swept  across 
the  sky  untouched  by  the  red  glow  of  battle,  raised 
majestically,  as  if  to  warn  or  to  smite. 

"There  is  something  terrible  going  on  some- 
where," she  had  said,  "  or  else  something  terrible  to 
come." 

And  Job,  to  whom  Rachel's  words  had  always  a 
tender  sacredness  in  them,  woven  of  the  old  rever- 
ence of  our  northern  race  for  the  prophet-woman ; 
of  sacred  memories  of  the  inspired  songs  of  Deb- 
orah and  Hannah,  interpreted  by  his  belief  that  the 
people  of  the  Bible  were  not  exceptional  but  typi- 
cal ;  and  of  his  own  strong  love  for  her — believed 
Rachel's  visions  with  entire  unconsciousness  how 
much  they  were  reflections  of  his  own  convictions. 
"  How,"  he  would  say,  "  could  a  feeble  creature 
like  her,  nurtured  and  cherished  like  a  babe,  and 
busy  all  her  life  in  naught  but  enduring  sicknesses 
or  doing  kindnesses,  know  aught  of  wars  and  battle- 
fields, unless  it  Avas   of  the  Lord  ?"     So  Job  fore- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


203 


boded,  and  we  hoped,  and  the  summer  months 
passed  on. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  on  which  we  and  the  Dave- 
nants  did  r.ot  meet,  especially  Roger,  and  Lettice, 
and  I ;  for  Roger  had  taken  his  degree,  and  having 
overworked  at  it,  was  constrained  to  be  idle  for  a 
while  ;  and  the  boy  Davenants  were  most  of  the 
time  in  London.  At  church,  at  the  Hall,  at  the 
Manor,  riding,  coursing,  hay-making,  nutting,  boat- 
ing on  the  Mere ;  on  rainy  days,  hunting  out  won- 
derful old  illuminated  manuscripts  in  Sir  Walter's 
library,  or  by  the  organ  in  my  Father's,  singing 
glees  and  madrigals;  making  essays  at  Italian  poet- 
ry, generally  resulting  in  translations,  metrical  or 
otherwise,  by  Roger,  for  Lettice's  benefit.  Lettice 
reigning  in  all  things,  by  a  thousand  indisputable 
royal  rights  ;  as  pupil ;  as  sovereign  lady ;  as  the 
youngest ;  as  the  most  adventurous ;  as  the  most 
timid ;  by  right  of  her  need  of  care,  and  her  cling- 
ing to  protection ;  by  right  of  minority,  she  being 
one,  and  we  two ;  by  right  of  her  true  constancy 
and  her  little  seeming  ficklenesses ;  by  right  of  her 
brilliant,  ever-changing  beauty,  and  all  her  name- 
less, sweet,  tyrannical,  winning,  willful  ways ;  by 
rio-ht  of  all  her  generous  self-forgetfulness,  and  de- 
light to  give  pleasure ;  and  firstly  and  lastly,  by 
right  of  the  subtle  power  which,  through  all  these 
charms,  stole  into  Roger's  heart,  and  took  posses- 
sion of  it,  unchallenged  and  unresisted,  then  and  for 
ever. 

We  spoke  little  of  politics.  Lettice  never  had 
any,  except  loyalty  to  the  king ;  and  at  this  time 


204 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


her  loyalty  was  sorely  tried  by  reason  of  her  per- 
plexity and  distress  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  un- 
generous desertion  of  Strafford  in  his  need. 

There  were  no  forbidden  topics  between  us. 
There  was  one,  indeed,  which  by  tacit  mutual  con- 
sent we  always  avoided,  and  that  was  all  that  con- 
cerned Sir  Launcelot  Trevor.  Lettice,  always  scent- 
ing from  afar  the  least  symptom  of  what  could 
pain,  never  approached  what  had  been  the  cause  of 
so  much  anguish  to  Roger ;  and  me  she  never  freed 
from  the  suspicion  of  a  certain  sisterly  injustice  in 
my  sentiments  towards  my  brother's  enemy.  But 
a  very  insignificant  and  unnecessary  chamber  indeed 
was  this  to  be  locked  out  of  the  palace  of  delights 
through  which  we  three  roamed  at  will  together. 
Nor  can  I  remember  one  pang  of  vexation  at  my 
own  falling  from  the  first  j^lace  to  the  second  in 
Roger's  thoughts.  If  I  had  not  loved  Lettice  on 
my  own  account  as  I  did,  there  was  nothing  in 
Roger's  love  for  her  that  could  have  sown  one  mis- 
erable seed  of  jealousy  in  my  heart.  If  he  loved  her 
most,  he  was  more  to  me  than  ever  before.  The  re- 
flection of  his  tender  reverence  for  her  fell  like  a 
glory  on  all  women  for  her  sake.  lie  Avas  more  to 
all  for  being  most  to  her.  Mean  calculations  of 
more  or  less,  better  or  best,  could  not  enter  into 
comparison  in  affections  stamped  with  such  a  sweet 
diversity.  All  true  love  expands,  not  narrows; 
strengthens,  not  weakens ;  anoints  the  eyes  with 
eye-salve,  not  blinds ;  opens  the  heart,  and  opens 
the  world,  and  ti-ansfigures  the  universe  into  an  en- 
chanted palace  and  treasure-house  of  joys,  simply 


THE  I) A  VENANT8.  205 

by  giving  the  key  to  unlock  its  chamljers,  and  the 
vision  to  see  its  treasures. 

This  was  the  innermost  heart  of  the  joy  of  those 
our  halcyon  days,  that  Roger  and  Lettice  and  I 
were  together.  We  three  made  for  ourselves  our 
new  Atlantis.  We  should  have  made  it  equally  in 
the  dingiest  street  of  London  city.  Only,  there  the 
joy  within  us  would  have  had  to  transfonn  our 
world  into  a  paradise.  At  Netherby,  riding  over 
the  fields  with  the  fresh  air  in  our  faces,  or  roaming 
the  musical  woods,  or  skimming  the  Mere  while 
Roger  rowed,  and  dipping  our  hands  in  the  cool 
waters,  or  talking  endlessly  on  the  fragrant  garden 
terraces  of  the  Manor  and  the  Hall,  it  had  not  to 
transform,  only  to  translate. 

Outside  this  inner  world  of  our  own  lay  a  bright 
and  friendly  world  all  around  us.  First,  our  Fa- 
ther, sweet  Lady  Lucy,  and  Aunt  Gretel — scarcely 
indeed  outside,  except  by  the  fact  of  their  not  quite 
understanding  what  we  had  within,  regarding  us, 
as  they  fondly  did,  as  dear  happy  children  not  yet 
out  of  our  paradise  of  childhood ;  next  Aunt  Doro- 
thy, Job  Forster,  and  Rachel,  guarding  us  as  fondly, 
though  anxiously,  as  on  the  unconscious  eve  of  en- 
counter with  our  dragons  and  leviathans ;  and  be- 
yond, the  village,  of  which  we  were  the  children ; 
the  country,  which  was  our  mother ;  the  world,  of 
which  we  were  the  heirs.  For  to  us  in  those  days 
there  were  no  harassing  Philistines,  no  crushing 
Babylon  ;  no  Egyptians  behind,  nor  Red  Sea  before. 
The  world  was  to  be  conquered,  but  not  as  a  pros- 
trate foe,  rather  as  a  willing  tributary  to  Truth  and 
18 


2o6  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

• 

Kight.  The  kings  of  Tarshish  and  of  the  isles  were 
to  bring  presents ;  Sheba  and  Seba  were  to  offer 
gifts.  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  were 
to  be  glad  for  us,  and  the  desert  was  to  rejoice  and 
blossom  as  the  rose. 

Meanwhile  Lady  Lucy  came  back  to  her  old  place 
in  my  heart.  Her  sweet  motherliness  seemed  to 
brood  like  the  wings  of  a  dove  orer  our  whole  hap- 
py world. 

Harry  Davenant  came  more  than  once  to  the 
Hall,  and  stayed  a  few  days,  to  Lady  Lucy's  per- 
fect content,  and  entejed  into  our  pursuits  as  keenly 
as  any  of  us.  Only  with  him  there  was  always  an 
undertone  of  sadness,  a  despondency  about  the 
country  and  the  world,  a  bitterness  about  the  times, 
a  slight  cynicism  about  men  and  women,  inevitable, 
perhaps,  to  a  noble  spirit  like  his,  which  (as  it  seems 
to  me)  has  lost  its  way,  and  strayed  into  the  back- 
ward current,  contrary  to  all  the  generous  forward 
movements  of  the  age  ;  but  strongly  contrasted 
with  the  steadfast,  hopeful  temper  no  danger 
could  daunt  and  no  defeat  could  damp,  which 
characterized  the  nobler  spirits  on  the  patriot  side. 
The  noble  Sir  Bevil  Grenvill  had  bitter  thoughts  of 
his  contemporaries;  the  generous  Lord  Falkland 
craved  for  peace  and  welcomed  death.  Eliot,  Pym, 
Hampden,  Cromwell,  Milton,  looked  for  liberty; 
believed  in  the  triumph  of  truth  ;  thought  England 
worth  fighting  for,  living  for,  if  needful,  dying  for ; 
they  braved  death  indeed  like  heroes,  they  met  it 
like  Christians,  but  they  did  not  long  for  it  like  men 
sick  and  hopeless  of  the  world.     If  God  had  willed 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS. 


207 


it  SO,  they  had  rather  have  lived  on,  because  of  the 
great  hopes  that  inspired  them,  because  they  be- 
lieved that  not  fate  nor  the  devil  were  at  the  heart 
of  the  world,  or  at  the  head  of  the  nations ;  but 
God. 

Yet  about  such  men  as  Harry  Davenant  there 
"Nvas  an  inexpressible  fascination.  There  is  some- 
thing that  irresistibly  touches  the  heart  in  heroism 
which,  like  Hector's  of  Troy,  is  nourished,  not  by 
hope,  but  by  duty ;  which  sacrifices  self  in  a  cause 
which  it  believes  no  courage  and  no  sacrifice  can 
make  victorious,  and  bates  no  jot  of  heart  when  all 
hope  has  fled. 

And  to  me  he  was  always  so  gentle  a  friend. 
"We  had  so  many  things  in  common ;  our  love  for 
his  Mother,  his  reverence  for  my  Fathei''s  goodness, 
justice,  and  wisdom ;  his  generous  appi'eciation  of 
Roger;  a  certain  protecting,  shielding  tenderness 
we  both  had  for  Lettice,  who  was,  indeed,  a  crea- 
ture so  tender,  and  dependent,  and  willful,  so  likely 
to  rush  into  trouble,  so  sure  to  feel  it,  that  no  wo- 
manly heart  could  help  feeling  motherlike  toward 
her. 

Yet  there  always  seemed  a  kind  of  half-acknowl- 
edged barrier  between  us,  even  from  the  first,  more 
distinctly  acknowledged  afterwards,  which  gave  a 
strange-  mixture  of  frankness  and  reserve,  of  near- 
ness and  separation,  to  our  intercourse;  wherein, 
perhaps,  lay  something  of  its  charm. 

And  across  thisi  world  of  ours  flashed  from  time 
to  time  during  those  months  lofty  visions  of  noble- 


2o8  THE  DJIA  YTONS  AND 

hess  and  wisdom  from  other  spheres ;  especially 
during  the  last  six  weeks  when  the  Parliament  was 
in  recess,  and  many  a  worthy  head  found  a  night's 
shelter  in  the  guest-chamber  at  Netherby. 

Mr.  Hampden  was  in  Scotland  as  Parliamentary 
Commissioner,  keeping  watch  over  the  king ;  Mr. 
Pym,  at  his  lodgings  in  Gray's  Inn  Lane,  keeping 
guard  for  the  nation.  But  Mr.  Cromwell  went 
home  in  the  recess  to  his  family  at  Ely,  and  spent 
some  hours  with  us  on  his  way  back  to  London. 
He  was  forty-two  years  old  then,  my  Father  said, 
and  his  hair  was  not  without  some  tinge  of  gray ; 
tall,  all  but  six  feet  in  stature,  and  firmly  knit. 
Many  things  seemed  to  lie  hidden  in  the  depths  of 
his  grave  eyes ;  a  subdued  fire  of  temper  flashing 
forth  at  times  sufficiently  to  show  that  at  the  heart 
of  this  gravity  lay  not  ice  but  fire ;  a  hearty  hu- 
mour, as  of  a  soul  at  liberty,  grasping  its  purpose 
firmly  enough  to  be  able  to  give  it  play — keen  to 
descry  likenesses  in  things  unlike,  inner  differences 
in  things  similar,  absurdities  in  things  decorous, 
and  the  meaning  of  men  and  things  in  general 
through  all  seemings.  Yet  withal,  ccf^iacities  and 
traces  of  heart-deep  sorrow,  as  of  one  who  had  look- 
ed into  the  depths  on  many  sides  and  found  them 
unfathomable.  Moreover,  above  all,  his  were  eyes 
which  saw;  not  merely  windows  through  which 
you  looked  into  the  soul.  Aunt  Gretel  said  there 
was  a  look  in  him  which  made  her  think  of  a  poi-- 
trait  of  Dr.  Luther  Mdiich  she  had  seen  in  her  youth. 
He  loved  music,  too,  which  was  another  i-esem- 
blance  to  Dr.  Luther.     He  was  always  kind  to  us 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


209 


children,  and  now  he  spoke  fondly  of  his  two  "  little 
wenches"  at  home — Bridget  (afterwards  Mistress 
Ireton),  a  little  beyond  my  age,  and  Elizabeth  (Mis- 
tress Claypole),  then  about  eleven,  his  dearly-loved 
daughter ;  and  the  two  blithe  little  ones,  Mary  and 
Frances,  about  five  and  three.  Methought  his  eyes 
rested  with  a  sorrowful  yearning  on  Roger;  and 
my  Father  told  ixs,  after  he  left,  he  had  only  two 
years  before,  in  May,  buried  his  eldest  son  Robert, 
about  nineteen,  which  was  Roger's  age.  This  son 
was  buried  far  from  home,  at  Felsted  Church  in 
Essex ;  a  youtli  whose  promise  had  been  so  great 
that  the  parson  of  the  parish  where  he  died  had  in- 
serted a  record  of  him  in  the  parish  register,  which 
reads  like  a  fond  epitaph  amidst  the  dry  unbroken 
list  of  names  and  dates.  Mr.  Cromwell  spoke  also 
with  much  reverence  of  his  aged  mother,  who  dwelt 
in  his  house  at  Ely. 

Mr.  Cromwell  was  full  of  a  firm  confidence  in  the 
future  of  the  church  and  the  country;  but,  like  Job 
Forster,  he  seemed  to  think  there  was  much  to  be 
done  and  gone  through  before  the  end  was  gained. 
On  his  way  through  the  village  he  had  held  some 
converse  with  Job  Forster  while  having  his  horse 
shod ;  and  he  said  something  of  such  men  as  Job 
being  the  men  for  a  Parliament  army,  if  ever  such 
an  army  should  be  needed. 

Whilst  Job,  on  his  part,  as  he  told  us  afterwards, 
was  deeply  moved  by  his  interview  with  Mr.  Crom- 
well. "  He  was  a  man,"  said  Job,  "  who  had  been 
in  the  depths,  and  had  brought  thence  the  sacred 
18* 


.2  lO  THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 

fire,  wliich  made  two  or  three  of  his  words  wortli  a 
hundred  spoken  by  common  men." 

Then  towards  the  close  of  that  happy  time  there 
was  one  evening  in  October  which  lingers  on  my 
memory  as  its  golden  sunset  lingered  on  the  many- 
coloured  autumn  woods. 

We  were  standing  on  the  terrace  at  Nethei-by, 
overlooking  the  orchard,  Roger,  Lettice,  and  I,  in 
the  fading  light ;  Lettice  twining  some  water-lilies 
Roger  had  just  gathered  from  the  pond.  Through 
the  embayed  window  of  the  wainscoted  parlour, 
which  stood  open,  poured  forth  the  music  of  my 
Father's  organ,  in  choixls  rich  and  changing  as 
the  colours  of  the  sunset  on  M'ood,  and  meadow,  and 
Mere. 

Mr.  John  Milton  was  the  musician,  and  as  the  in- 
tertwined harmonies  flowed  from  his  hands 

"  In  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 
His  melting  voice  tlirougli  mazes  running. 
Untwisted  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony." 

As  we  listened,  enrapt  by  the  power  of  the  music, 
which  seemed 

"  Dead  things  with  imbreathed  sense,  able  to  pierce, 
And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  song  of  pui'e  concent 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-coloured  throne 
To  Him  that  sits  thereon." — 

the  lilies  dropped  from  Lettice's  fingers,  and  she 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  2 1 1 

sat  like  the  statue  of  a  listening  nymph  ;  the  knit- 
ting fell  from  Aunt  Gretel's  lap,'  and  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes,  and,  thinking  of  my  mother,  she  mur- 
mured "  Magdalene  !  "  Roger  and  I  were  leaning 
on  the  window-sill,  and  all  of  us  were  so  uncon- 
scious of  anything  present,  that  Eady  Lucy  had  ad- 
vanced from  the  other  end  of  the  terrace  near 
enough  to  touch  me  on  the  arm  without  my  hearing 
a  footstep. 

By  her  side  stood  a  courtly-looking  young  clergy- 
man, with  dark  hair  flowing  from  under  his  velvet 
cap,  and  dark,  meditative  eyes,  yet  with  much  light 
of  smiles  hidden  in  them,  like  dew  in  violets.  Him 
she  introduced  as  "  Dr.  Taylor,  one  of  His  Majesty's 
chaplains."  He  was  not  yet  eight-and-twenty  years 
of  age,  but  was  in  mourning  for  his  first  wife,  but 
lately  dead. 

Mr.  Milton  joined  us  soon  with  my  Father.  He 
was  a  few  years  older  than  Dr.  Taylor,  but  in  ap- 
pearance much  more  youthful ;  with  his  brown  un- 
Puritan  love-locks,  his  short  stature,  his  face  deter- 
mined, almost  to  severity,  yet  delicate  as  a  beautiful 
woman's. 

And  then  between  these  two,  while  we  listened, 
ensued  an  hour's  converse,  like  the  antiphons  of  some 
heavenly  choir. 

Names  of  ancient  heroes  and  philosophers — 
Egyptian,  Assyrian,  Greek,  Latin — dropped  from 
their  lips  like  household  words.  Until  at  last  they 
rose  into  a  chorus  in  praise  of  liberty,  of  conscience, 
and  of  thought ;  Dr.  Taylor,  I  thought,  basing  hia 
argument  more  on  the  dimness  of  human  vision,  and 


2 1 2  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Mr.  Milton  on  the  inherent  and  victorious  might  of 
truth.  Dr.  Taylor  pleading  for  a  charitable  toler- 
ance for  error,  Mr.  Milton  for  a  glorious  freedom 
for  truth ;  the  which  converse  I  often  recalled  when, 
in  after  years,  we  read  the  Liberty  of  Prophesying 
by  the  one,  and  the  Liberty  of  Printing  by  the 
other. 

As  they  spoke,  the  glory  faded  from  the  sky  and 
the  golden  autumnal  woods,  and  when  they  ceased, 
and  we  stei:>ped  from  the  terrace  into  the  gloom  of 
the  dark  wainscoted  parlour,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
we  had  stepped  out  of  a  fragrant  and  melodious 
elysium  into  a  farm-yard,  so  homely  and  unmeaning, 
like  the  cacklings  or  lowings  of  animals,  did  all 
common  discourse  seem  afterwards. 

The  next  day,  when  Mr.  Milton  had  left  us,  and 
we  were  speaking  together  of  this  discourse,  Aunt 
Gretel  said  it  was  like  beautiful  music,  only,  being 
mostly  in  a  kind  of  Latin,  was,  of  course,  beyond 
her  comprehension.  Aunt  Dorothy  only  consoled 
herself  for  what  she  regarded  as  the  dangerous  li- 
cence of  their  conclusions,  by  the  thought  that  their 
path  to  them  was  too  fantastic  and  fine  for  any 
common  mortals  to  tread.  And  my  Father  said 
afterwards  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  Dr.  Taylor's 
learning  and  fancy  hung  around  his  reason  like  the 
jewelled  state-trappings  of  a  royal  palfrey ;  you 
wondered  how  his  wit  could  move  so  nimbly  under 
such  a  weight  of  ornament;  whilst  Mr.  Milton's 
learning  and  imagination  were  like  wings  to  the 
strong  Pegasus  of  his  wisdom,  only  helping  him  to 
Boar.     When   Dr.  Taylor  alluded  to  the   lore   of 


THE  BAVENANTS.  213 

the  ancients,  it  seemed  like  a  treasury  wherewith 
to  adorn  his  fancies  or  to  wing  his  airy  shafts.  But 
to  Mr.  Milton  it  seemed  an  armory  common  to  him 
and  to  the  wise  men  of  whom  he  spoke,  and  to 
which  he  had  as  free  access  as  they  ;  to  draw  thence 
weapons  for  his  warfare  and  theirs,  and  to  add  there- 
to for  the  generations  to  come. 

Yet  brilliant  and  glowing  as  their  speech  "vs^as, 
Roger  would  have  it  that  Mr.  Cromwell's  brief  and 
rugged  words  had  in  them  more  of  the  red  heat 
that  fuses  the  weapons  wherewith  the  great  battles 
of  life  are  fought.  For  we  spoke  often  of  that 
evening,  Roger,  and  Lettice,  and  I,  in  the  few  short 
days  that  remained  of  our  golden  age  of  peace. 


Scarcely  a  fortnight  after  that  evening  at  Neth- 
erby,  tidings  of  the  Irish  massacre  thrilled  through 
all  the  land  with  one  shudder  of  horror  and  helpless 
indignation  for  the  past ;  awakening  one  bitter  cry 
for  rescue  and  vengeance  in  the  future. 

On  the  20th  of  October  the  Parliament  had  met 
again. 

It  was  a  gray  and  comfortless  evening  early  in 
November  when  a  Post  spurred  into  the  village  of 
Netherby,  and  stopped  at  Job  Forster's  forge  to 
have  some  slight  repair  made  in  the  gear  of  his 
horse. 

Rachel  was  there  immediately  with  a  jug  of  ale 
for  the  weary  rider  and  water  for  his  horse.  The 
horseman  took  both  in  silence. 

"  Thou  art  scant  of  greetings  to-day,  good-mas- 


2 1 4  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

ter,"  said  Job,  as  he  busied  himself  about  the  bioken 
bit,  without  looking  in  the  rider's  face. 

But  Rachel,  who  had  caught  in  an  instant  the 
weight  of  heavy  tidings  on  the  stranger's  face,  laid 
her  hand  with  a  silencing  gesture  on  her  husband's 
arm. 

Then  Job  looked  up,  and  meeting  the  horseman's 
eyt,  dropped  the  bit,  and  said  abruptly, — 

"  What  tidings,  master  ?  We  are  not  of  those 
who  look  for  smooth  things." 

"  Rough  enough,"  was  the  reply.  "  A  hundred 
thousand  Protestants,*  men,  women,  and  children, 
surprised,  and  robbed,  and  massacred  in  Ireland, 
scarce  more  than  a  sennight  agoue.  At  morning, 
met  with  good-days  and  friendly  looks  by  the  Pa- 
pists around  them;  before  evening,  driven  from 
their  burning  homes,  naked  and  destitute,  into  the 
roads  and  wildernesses.  Thousands  murdered 
amidst  their  ruined  homes ;  happy  -those  who  were 
only  murdered,  or  murdered  quickly;  no  mercy  on 
age  or  sex,  no  memory  of  kindness  ;  treachery  and 
torture;  women  and  little  children  turning  into 
fiends  of  cruelty.  Dublin  itself  only  saved  by  one 
who  gave  warning  the  evening  before.  But  the 
worst  was  for  the  women,  and  the  little  heli)less 
tortured  babes." 

"  Softly,  softly,  master,"  said  Job ;  for  Rachel  had 
fallen  on  his  shoulder  fainting.     "  She  can  bear  to 


*  Tliis  was  the  number  commonly  believed  among  iis  at  the 
time.  Since  I  have  heard  it  disputed.  But  that  the  slaugh* 
ter  and  the  atrocities  were  terrible,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 


THE  DA  VENANT8.  2 1 1, 

hear  any  dreadful  thing,  or  to  see  any  dreadful 
sight,  if  she  can  be  of  any  help ;  but  this  is  too 
much  for  her." 

Gently  he  bore  her  in  and  laid  her  on  the  bed, 
and  hesitated  an  instant  what  to  do,  not  liking  to 
leave  her. 

"  She  always  seems  to  know  whether  it's  me  or 
any  one  else,  even  when  she's  clean  gone  like  this," 
he  said ;  "  but  yet  T  dare  not  hinder  the  Post." 

"  Leave  her  to  me,  Job,"  I  said ;  "  she'll  not  feel 
strange  with  me." 

And  after  a  moment's  further  pause,  lifting  her 
into  an  easier  position,  he  went  out. 

Sprinkling  water  on  her  face  and  chafing  her 
hands,  breathing  on  her  lips  and  temples,  as  I  had 
Been  Aunt  Gretel  do  in  such  a  case,  I  had  the  com- 
fort of  soon  seeing  Rachel  langsidly  open  her  eyes. 
For  a  moment  there  was  a  bewildered,  inquiring 
look  in  them,  but  quickly  it  gave  place  to  a  mourn- 
ful collectedness. 

"  I  kncAV  it — I  knew  it.  Mistress  Olive !"  she  said, 
"  I  knew  something  must  come.  But  I  thought  the 
judgment  would  fall  on  the  Lord's  enemies  ;  and 
Job  and  I  have  been  pleading  with  Him  for  mercy, 
even  on  them.  I  never  thought  the  sword  would 
fall  on  the  sheep  of  His  pasture.  Least  of  all  on  the 
lambs,"  she  added  ;  "  on  the  innocent  lambs.  But 
maybe,  after  all,  that  ivas  His  mercy.  They  are  but 
gone  home  by  a  cruel  path,  poor  innocents — only 
gone  home."  Then  a  burst  of  tears  came  to  her  re- 
lief; a  neighbour  came  in  to  help ;  and  I  left  to  go 
home  without  further  delay. 


2i6  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

The  few  minutes  which  I  had  spent  at  Rachel 
Forster's  bedside  had  sufficed  to  gather  all  the  vil- 
lage around  tlie  forge  ;  women  with  babies  in  their 
arms  and  little  ones  clinging  to  their  skirts ;  men 
on  their  way  home  from  the  day's  labour  with 
spades  and  mattocks  on  their  shoulders ;  the  tailor 
needle  in  hand ;  the  miller  white  from  the  mill ; 
women  with  hands  full  of  dough  from  the  kneading- 
trough  ;  none  waiting  to  lay  aside  an  implement, 
none  left  behind  but  the  bedridden,  yet  none  asking 
a  question,  or  uttering  an  exclamation,  as  they 
passed  around  the  messenger,  drinking  in  the  hor- 
rible details  of  the  slaughter.  Only,  in  the  pauses, 
a  long-drawn  breath,  or  now  and  then  a  suppressed 
sob  from  the  women. 

Job  meanwhile  continued,  as  was  his  wont,  work- 
ing his  feelings  into  the  task  he  had  in  hand,  so  that 
long  before  the  villagers  were  weary  of  listening 
while  the  Post  told  the  cruel  particulars,  heighten- 
ing the  excitement  and  deepening  the  silence,  the  bit 
was  mended,  every  weak  point  of  hoof  or  harness 
had  undergrone  Job's  skillful  inspection,  and  offer- 
ing the  messenger  another  draught  at  the  beer-can, 
he  said  to  him  in  his  abrupt  way, — 

"  Whither  next,  master  ?  We  may  not  delay 
such  tidings." 

"  I  have  letters  for  Squire  Drayton  of  Netherby 
Manor,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Trust  them  to  me,"  said  Roger. 

"  The  best  hands  you  can  trust  them  to,"  said 
Job. 

In  consideration  of  the  urgent  need  of  haste,  the 


THE  DA  VENj.  N'IS. 


217 


Post  gave  us  a  letter  in  Dr.  Antony's  writing  to 
Roger,  and  in  another  minute  was  out  of  sight 
"beyond  the  turn  of  the  village  street. 

A  little  murmur  arose  among  the  village-gossips. 
"No  need  for  breaking  a  Post  short  like  that,  good- 
man  Forster,"  said  the  miller's  wife;  "sure  he 
knows  his  own  business  best." 

"What  did  we  need  to  hear  more^  goodwife?" 
was  Job's  reply.  "  All  England  has  to  hear  it  yet ! 
Thousand  of  j^rayers  have  to  be  stirred  up  through- 
out the  land  before  night.  And  haven't  we  heard 
enough  to  make  this  night  a  night  of  watching  ? 
Hearkening  to  fearful  tales  helps  little ;  and  talking 
less.  For  this  kind  goeth  not  out  but  with  prayer 
and  fasting." 

And  Job  turned  away  into  his  cottage.  But  as 
Roger  and  I  hastened  up  the  street,  the  village  had 
already  broken  into  little  eager  groups,  and  the 
words,  "  the  Irish  Popish  Ai-my,"  and  "  the  Popish 
Queen,"  came  with  bitter  emphasis  from  many 
voices. 

Deep  was  the  excitement  at  home  when  we 
brought  the  terrible  tidings.  Dr.  Antony's  letter 
too  dreadfully  confirmed  them,  telling  how  the 
House  of  Commons  received  the  news,  brought  in 
by  one  O'Conolly,  in  an  awe-stricken  silence  ;  how 
nearly  all  Ulster,  the  head-quarters  of  the  Protes- 
tants, was  still  in  the  hands  of  the  insurgents  ;  the 
towns  and  villages  in  flames. 

"  Tilly  and  jMagdeburg  !"  were  the  first  words 
that  broke  from  my  Fatfier's  lips.  "  The  same  strife, 
the  same  weapons,  the  same  fiendish  cruelty,  in  the 
19 


2 1 8  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

name  of  the  All  Pitiful.  If  such  another  conflict  is 
indeed  to  come,  God  send  England  weapons  as  good 
wherewith  to  wage  it ;  soldiers  that  can  pray  ;  and, 
if  such  can  be  twice  in  one  generation,  another 
Gustavus !" 

Fervently  he  pleaded  that  night  together  with 
the  gathered  household  for  the  robbed  and  bereaved 
sufferers  in  Ireland.  Far  into  the  night  Roger  saw 
the  lamp  burning  in  his  window.  No  doubt  he  had 
sought  Job  Forster's  Refuge. 

But  the  next  morning,  wlien  we  came  in  to  break- 
fast, he  had  taken  down  the  old  sword  he  had  worn 
through  the  German  wars ;  and  was  trying  its  edge. 

"  The  good  God  keep  ns  from  war.  Brother  !" 
said  Aunt  Gretel,  trembling  at  the  thoughts  that 
old  weapon  recalled,  "  I  was  thinking  we  might 
search  out  our  stores  for  woolseys  and  linseys. 
They  will  be  sure  to  be  sending  such  to  the  poor 
sufferers,  and  they  will  be  building  orphan  houses." 

"  Citadels  have  to  be  built  and  kept  first !"  said 
my  Father.  "  There  are  times  when  war  is  as  much 
a  work  of  mercy  as  clothing  the  naked  and  feeding 
the  hungry." 

"But  war  with  ?i'Ao???,  Brother?"  said  Aunt  Do- 
rothy'-, pointedly.  "  It  is  little  use  lopping  the 
branches  and  sparing  the  tree.  What  has  become 
of  the  Irish  Popish  army  the  king  was  so  loth  to 
dismiss  ?  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  smite  a  few  poor 
blind  fanatics,  when  the  Popish  queen  and  her 
Jesuits  rule  in  the  Palace  ?  It  wearies  me  to  the 
lieart  to  hear  of  honest  men  like  Mr.  Hampden,  jMr. 
Pym,  and  all  of  them     impeaching  Lord   Sti-afibrd 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


219 


and  imprisoning  Archbishop  Laud,  "svho,  1  believe 
(poor  deluded  man),  thought  himself  doing  God's 
service  ;  and  yet  kissing  the  hand  that  appointed 
Laud  and  Strafford,  and  would  sign  death-warrants 
for  every  patriot  and  Puritan  in  the  kingdom  to- 
night, if  it  Avere  safe." 

"  Mr.  Hampden,  Mr.  Pym,  and  Mr.  Cromwell  are 
doing  their  best  to  make  it  not  safe,  Sister  Dorothy," 
was  my  Father's  reply.  "  And  meantime  there  is 
more  sti-ength  in  silence  than  in  invective." 

"A  Parliament  of  women,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  would  have  gone  to  the  point  months  since,  and 
let  the  king  understand  what  they  meant." 

"  Probably,"  said  my  Father,  "  but  the  great 
thing  is  to  gain  the  point." 

Unusually  early  in  the  day  for  her.  Lady  Lucy 
appeared  at  the  Manor,  with  Harry  and  Lettice 
walking  beside  her  horse. 

She  looked  very  pale  as  my  Father  led  her  into 
the  wainscoted  parlour. 

"  Mr.  Drayton,"  she  said,  "  who  ever  could  have 
dreamed  of  such  tidings  !  The  only  ray  of  comfort 
is  that  they  may  help  to  unite  our  distracted 
country.  There  can  be  but  one  mind  throughout 
the  laud  about  such  deeds  as  these.  The  king  went 
at  once  to  the  Scottish  Parliament  with  the  news, 
to  seek  their  counsel  and  aid.  Now  at  least  the 
king,  pai'liament,  and  nation,  will  be  one  in  their 
indignation." 

"  It  would  be  well  if  the  king  had  dismissed 
before   this   the   Irish   Catholic  army  which   Lord 


^^20  "^HE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Strafford  raised  for  him,"  said  my  Father.  « It  is 
well  known  that  its  officers  have  been  in  communi- 
cation with  the  assassins." 

"  The  king  did  send  orders  to  dishand  it  long 
since,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  public  orders,"  my  Father  replied  ;  "  but 
there  are  rumours  of  secret  instructions  having  ac- 
companied, not  precisely  to  the  same  effect." 

"  Rumours  !"  she  said  eagerly ;  "  Mr.  Drayton, 
mere  ruriours!  You  are  too  just  and  generous  to 
listen  tc  a  vulgar  report,  with  the  king's  word 
against  it." 

"  Madam,"  he  replied,  very  gravely,  "  it   would . 
have  been  the  salvation  of  the  country  long  since  if 
the  king's  word  had  been  a  sufficient  reply  to  at- 
tacks on  his  policy.     There  is  nothing  so  revolution- 
ary as  falsehood  in  high  places." 

"  You  call  the  king  a  revolutionist  ?"  she  said. 

"I  call  untruth  the  great  revolutionist,"  he  re- 
plied. "  Without  truth  and  trust  all  communities 
must  ultimately  fall  to  pieces,  with  more  or  less 
noise,  according  as  they  are  assailed  by  a  strong 
hand  from  without,  or  simply  crumble  from  within. 
The  ruin  is  certain." 

"  But  all  good  men  must  be  agreed  in  detesting 
these  barbarous  deeds,"  she  said.  "  Even  the  Earl 
of  Castlehaven,  a  Catholic,  has  said  that  all  the 
water  in  the  sea  would  not  wash  off  from  the  Irish 
the  stain  of  their  treacherous  murders  in  a  time  of 
settled  peace." 

"  No  doubt  there  are  Catholics,  madam,  who  speak 
the  truth  and  hate  injustice,  '  said  my  Father. 


THE  DA  VEiYANTS.  2  2 1 

"  Toil  are  unjust,  you  are  cruel  to  His  Majesty," 
she  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  if  you  could  be 
unjust  or  cruel  to  any  one." 

"  Lady  Lucy,"  he  replied,  "  this  is  a  time  for  all 
men  who  fear  God  and  love  England  to  be  united. 
Would  Lord  Strafford  (could  he  come  back  among 
us)  contradict  the  words  wrung  from  him  when  the 
king  signed  his  death-warrant  ?  Would  he  say, '  Put 
your  trust  in  princes  ? '  " 

Harry  Davenant  passionately  interposed. 

"  It  is  too  bad  to  drive  the  king  to  actions  he  de- 
tests, and  then  to  reproach  him  for  them.  He  would 
have  saved  Lord  Strafford,  as  all  men  know,  if  he 
could.  It  is  the  distrust  of  the  country  that  has 
compelled  the  king  to  have  recourse  to  subtleties 
no  gentleman  would  choose." 

"  Harry  Davenant,"  said  my  Father,  "  I  am  con- 
fident no  measure  of  unjust  distrust  would  drive 
you  to  the  policy  of  making  promises  you  never 
meant  to  keep." 

"  My  life  is  simple,  sir,"  was  the  mournful  reply, 
"  and  it  is  my  own.  If  I  choose  any  evil  to  myself, 
rather  than  go  from  my  word,  or  imply  the  thing  I 
do  not  mean,  I  am  at  liberty  to  do  so.  But  the 
king's  life  is  manifold.  He  stands  before  the  Hifjhest 
with  the  nation  gathered  up  into  his  single  person. 
He  stands  above  the  nation  as  the  anointed  repre- 
sentative of  the  King  of  kings.  God  himself  is  only 
indirectly  King  of  nations  by  being  King  of  kings. 
He  stands  between  the  past  and  the  future  with  a 
sacred  trust  of  prerogative  and  right  to  guard  and 
19* 


222  THE  DBA  YTONS  A  ND 

transmit.  It  is  not  for  us  to  api:)ly  tlie  standards  of 
our  private  morality  to  him." 

"  Apply  the  standards  of  Divine  morality  to  all !" 
said  my  Father.  "  Tinith  is  the  pillar  of  heaven  as 
well  as  of  earth.  There  is  no  bond  of  society  like 
a  trusted  word." 

"At  least,  sir,"  rejoined  Harry  Davenant,  gently 
but  loftily,  "it  is  not  for  me  who  eat  the  king's 
bread  to  say  or  hear  ought  disloyal  to  him.  Nor 
will  I."     And  he  rose  to  leave. 

My  Father  held  out  his  hand  to  grasp  his. 

"  One  word  more,"  he  said,  "  disloyalty  is  a  terri- 
ble word,  and  we  may  hear  more  of  it  in  these  com- 
ing years.  Let  me  say  to  you,  once  for  all,  the 
qxiestion  is  not  of  loyalty  or  disloyalty,  but  to 
whom  our  loyalty  is  due.  I  believe  it  is  to  England 
and  her  laws ;  to  the  king  if  he  is  faithful  to  these." 

"  What  tribunal  can  judge  the  king  ?"  Harry 
Davenant  replied. 

"  More  than  one,"  said  my  Father,  solemnly.  "  The 
English  laws  he  has  sworn  to  maintain  ;  the  eternal 
Lawgiver  from  whom  you  say  he  holds  his  crown, 
whose  laws  of  truth  and  equity  are  no  secret,  and 
are  as  binding  on  the  peasant  as  the  prince." 

Lady  Lucy's  manner  had  a  peculiar  tenderness  in 
it  to  me  as  she  wished  me  good-bye. 

"  Very  difficult  times,  Olive !"  she  said,  kissing 
me  ;  "but  we  will  remember  women  have  one 
v/ork  at  all  times ;  to  make  peace  and  pour  balm 
into  wounds." 

And  Lettico  whispered  to  me  and  Roger, — 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS. 


223 


"Don't  believe  those  wicked  tilings  about  the 
king,  or  I  shall  not  be  able  to  come  to  Nethcrby." 

Roger  looked  sorely  perplexed. 

"  But  how  can  we  help  believing  them,"  he  said, 
"  if  we  find  them  true  ?" 

"  I  can  always  help  believing  things  I  don't  like," 
she  said.  "  Wishing  is  half  way  to  believing." 
And  she  slipped  away,  leaving  a  very  heavy 
shadow  on  Roger's  face  as  he  turned  back  to  the 
house. 

"  Not  quite  so  clear,  Olive,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
when  I  repeated  to  her  Lady  Lucy's  words  as  a 
proof  of  her  good  wilL  "  There  are  times  when 
Deborah  is  as  necessary  as  Barak,  and  more  so. 
And  then  there  was  Judith,  a  valiant  and  godly 
woman,  although  she  is  in  the  Apocrypha.  And 
there  are  times  when  the  knife  is  kinder  than  all  the 
balm  in  Gilead." 

"  Knives  are  never  safe,  however,"  added  my 
Father,  "except  in  hands  that  use  them  for  the 
same  purpose  as  the  balms." 

The  intercourse  of  the  two  families  did  not  cease 
after  that  little  debate.  It  rather  became  more 
frequent.  The  uneasy  consciousness  of  the  man} 
public  differences  that  might  at  any  time  sever  us 
oidy  made  us  cling  the  more  tenaciously,  although 
with  trembling,  to  the  private  ties  that  united  us 
For  a  fortnight  after  the  Irish  tidings  reached  us, 
liady  Lucy,  Aunt  Gretel,  and  even  Aunt  Dorothj^, 
found  a  practical  bond  of  union  in  collecting  all  the 
clothes  and  provisions  they  could  send  to  the  suffer- 
ers by  the  Irish  massacre. 


224  THE  DRA  Y70NS  AND 

Then  came  the  news  of  divisions  in  the  patriot 
party  in  the  Parliament,  witli  reference  to  the  fram- 
ino-  and  printing  of  the  Grand  Remonstrance,  voted 
to  be  printed  on  the  8th  of  December.  Lady  Lncy 
dwelt  much  on  the  conciliatory  intentions  of  the 
king,  on  the  feastings  and  welcomes  prepared  for 
him  in  the  city  of  London,  and  especially  on  the 
defection  of  the  gallant  Sir  Bevil  Granvill,  Lord 
Falkland,  and  Mr.  Hyde,  from  the  popular  cause. 
"  All  moderate  men,"  she  said,  "  felt  it  was  becom- 
ing the  cause  of  disorder,  and  were  abandoning  it ; 
and  my  Father,  the  most  moderate  and  candid  of 
men,  would  not,  she  was  sure,  remain  with  a  little 
knot  of  fanatics  and  levellers." 

That  Christmas-tide  the  Grand  Remonstrance, 
with  its  long  list  of  royal  and  ecclesiastical  oppres- 
sions, and  its  statement  of  the  recent  victories  ol 
Parliament  over  evil  laws  and  evil  councillors,  was 
read  and  eagerly  debated  at  every  fire-side  in  the 
kingdom. 

"  But  what  do  they  want  ?"  Lady  Lucy  would 
say.  "  They  seem,  from  their  own  statements,  to 
have  gained  all  they  sought." 

"  They  want  security  for  everything  !"  my  Father 
would  reply,  "  security  for  what  they  have  won  ;  a 
guard  of  their  own  appointing  to  keep  them  free,  to 
secure  them  against  the  guard  of  his  own  appoint- 
ing, with  which  they  believe  the  king  is  endeavour- 
ing to  surround  and  make  them  prisoners." 

"  Will  no  promises,  no  assurances  of  good-will 
satisfy  them  ?"  she  said.  "  They  have  sent  ten  more 
prelates  to  keep  the   archbishop  company  in  the 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  225 

Tower.     \Yhat  furtlicr  guarantees  would  they  de- 
mand ?" 

"It  is  hard  iudeed,"  ho  said,  sorrowfully,  "  for  all 
the  concessions  in  the  world  to  restore  broken  con- 
fidence. All  the  fortresses  in  England,  or  a  stand- 
ing army  of  a  million,  would  not  he  such  a  safe- 
guard to  the  king  as  his  own  word  might  have  been. 
There  is  no  cement  in  heaven  or  earth  strong  enough 
to  restore  trust  in  broken  faith." 

"  It  is  not  always  so  easy  to  be  sincere,"  she  said, 

"  and  God  forgives  and  trusts  us  again  and  again." 

"  God  forgives  because  he  sees,"  he  said.  "  Nations 

are  not  omniscient,  and  therefore  cannot  forgive, 

nor  trust  when  they  have  been  betrayed." 

"  The  Parliament  is  unreasonable,"  she  said,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  they  judge  like  private  gentle- 
men. Statesmen  and  princes  cannot  sjjeak  with  the 
simple  candour  of  private  men.  Politics  arc  like 
chess.  You  would  not  confide  every  move  before- 
hand to  your  enemy." 

"  The  King  and  the  Pailiament  do  not  profess  to 
be  on  opposite  sides  of  the  game,"  he  replied.  "  But 
if,  in  fact,  it  has  come  to  that,  can  you  wonder  at 
any  amount  of  mutual  suspicion  ?  Yet  our  Puritan 
faith  is,  that  there  is  but  ono  laAV  of  truth  and 
equity  in  heaven  and  earth  for  prince,  soldier,  peas- 
ant, Avoman,  and  child.  And  I  believe  that,  even 
with  hostile  nations,  not  all  the  diplomatic  subtle- 
ties in  the  Avorld  would  give  us  the  strength  there 
is  in  a  trusted  word.  Let  it  once  be  felt  of  man  or 
nation,  '  They  have  said  it,  therefore  they  mean  it ;' 
and  they  have  a  strength  nothing  else  can  give. 


226  THE  D  RA  TTONS  AND 

There  must  be  two  threads  to  weave  a  web  of  false 
policy.  Withdraw  one,  and  the  other  falls  to  pieces 
of  itself.  I  believe  the  ruler  who  could  make  the 
word  of  an  Englishman  a  proverb  for  truth,  would 
do  more  for  the  strength  of  England  than  one  Avho 
won  her  fortresses  on  every  island  and  coast  in  the 
world." 

"But  see  how  the  king  trusts  the  people,  ]\[r. 
Drayton,"  she  said.  "His  presence  in  that  very 
tumultuous  disorderly  city  ought  to  make  them  be- 
lieve him." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  His  Majesty  has  had  reason  to 
distrust  the  people,"  my  Father  replied. 

"  Ah !"  she  sighed  ;  "  if  you  had  only  seen  His 
Majesty  amidst  his  fimily,  his  chivalrous  tenderness 
to  the  queen,  his  native  stateliness  all  laid  aside  in 
playful  fondness  for  his  children." 

"  It  might  have  made  it  more  painful  to  have  to 
distrust  him  as  a  king,"  my  Father  replied.  "  It 
could  scarcely  have  made  it  more  possible  to 
trust." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  either  the  nation  will  learn, 
ere  long,  to  trust  his  gracious  intentions  as  he  de- 
serves, or  will  learn  to  their  cost  what  a  sovereisru 
they  have  distrusted !" 

But  scarcely  a  week  afterwards  the  whole  country 
was  set  in  a  flame  by  the  tidings  that  His  Majesty 
had  gone  in  person — attended  by  five  hundred 
armt'd  men,  many  of  them  young  desperadoes, 
feasted  the  night  before  at  Whitehall — to  arrest  the 
five   members   (Pym,   Hampden,   Hazelrig,  Denzil 


THE  DAVENANTS.  227 

Hollis,  and  William  Strode)  in  the  inviolate  sanctu- 
ary of  the  nation,  the  Parliament  House  itself. 

And  after  that  my  Father  and  Lady  Lucy  ceased 
to  hold  any  more  political  debates. 

He  simply  said,  when,  on  the  evening  of  those 
tidings,  we  met  in  the  village, — 

"  The  meaning  of  His  Majesty's  promises  seems 
plain  at  last." 

And  she  replied, — 

"  But  if  all  good  men  distrust  His  Majesty,  will 
he  not  be  driven  to  trust  to  evil  men  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  the  course  of  falsehood  is  ever 
downward,"  he  answered,  very  sadly,  "and  the 
breaches  of  just  distrust  ever  widening." 

"  But,  for  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Drayton,"  she  said, 
with  an  imploring  accent,  as  we  returned  with  her 
to  the  Hall,  "  think  before  you  plunge  into  these 
terrible  divisions." 

"  I  have  thought  long,  madam,"  he  said,  "  for  I 
have  fought  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  and  seen 
how  war  can  devastate." 

"  But  that  was  easy,"  she  said, "  that  was  church 
against  church,  state  against  state,  prince  against 
prince.  This  will  be  the  church  divided  against 
itself,  the  nation  divided  against  itself,  subject 
against  king,  one  good  man  against  another.  Think, 
if  you  join  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr.  Pym  what  noble 
and  wise  men  you  will  have  against  you  !  (for  you 
honour  Sir  Bevil  Grenvill  and  Lord  Falkland  as 
much  as  we  do) ;  what  violent  and  fanatical  men 
with  you !" 

"  If  all  good  men  were  on  one  side,"  he  said,  sor- 


228  THE  BRA  YTONS  A  ND 

rowfully,  "  there  need  be  few  battles  in  church  oi 
state." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  added,  "  there  is  no  party 
one  would  willingly  join  save  that  of  the  peace- 
makers." 

"  That  indeed  is  the  very  party  I  w^ould  seek  to 
join,"  said  my  Father.  "  But  that  seems  to  me  the 
very  party  which,  from  ancient  times,  has  been  stig- 
matized as  those  who  turn  the  world  upside  down. 
Since  the  Fall  peace  can  seldom  be  reached  save 
through  conflict." 

Meanwhile  Roger  had  joined  us,  and  Lettice,  as 
■we  were  about  to  separate,  whispered  to  me,  clasp- 
ing my  hands  in  hers, — 

"  They  may  turn  the  world  upside  down,  Olive, 
but  they  shall  not  separate  us !  How  happy  it  is 
for  us,"  she  said,  turning  to  Roger,  who  was  stand- 
ing a  little  apart,  "that,  as  Harry  says,  women  have 
nothing  to  do  with  politics." 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  in  his  abrupt  Avay, 
"  women  have  often  more  than  any  to  suifer  from 
politics." 

"  You  take  things  so  gravely,  Roger,"  she  said. 
"  Everything  would  be  right  if  you  would  not  all 
of  you  be  so  hard  on  people  who  have  done  a  little 
wrong ;  and  Avould  only  try  and  believe  what  Ave 
must  all  wish,  and  so  bring  it  about." 

"  Everything  will  be  xvrong^''  said  Roger,  with 
melancholy  emphasis,  "  if  you  will  believe  things 
and  people  because  you  ivlnh^  and  not  because  they 
are  true." 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


229 


For  Roger,  true  to  every  one,  was  truthful  to 
Rcrupulousuess  with  Letticc;  what  she  was,  or  be- 
came, heing  of  more  moment  to  him  than  even  what 
she  thought  of  him. 

But  Lettice  only  laughed,  and  said, — 

"  I  am  not  sixteen,  and  I  have  seen  the  country 
at  the  point  of  ruin,  I  cannot  tell  how  many  times. 
Other  clouds  have  blown  over,  and  so  will  this." 

And  she  sped  away  to  rejoin  her  mother,  only 
once  more  turning  back  to  wave  her  hand  and  say  : 

"  To-morrow  morning,  Olive,  at  the  Lady  Well ! 
The  ice  will  be  strong  enough  on  the  Mere  for 
skating.     To-morrow !  " 

But  the  next  morning,  when  Roger  and  I  went  to 
the  Lady  Well,  no  Lettice  was  there. 

Snow  had  fillen  in  the  night. 

The  frozen  surface  of  the  Mere  was  strewn  with 
it,  except  in  places  where  it  was  sheltered  by  the 
overhanging  brushwood,  where  it  lay  black  as  steel 
against  the  white  banks.  All  the  music  was  frozen 
in  stream  and  wood.  The  drops,  whose  soft  trick- 
ling into  the  well  beneath,  had  floated  Lettice  and 
me  into  fairy-land  last  summer,  hung  in  glittering 
silent  icicles  around  the  stone  sides  of  the  well. 

And  Roger  and  I  went  silently  home. 

"  The  snow  has  detained  her,"  I  said. 

"  She  is  not  so  easily  turned  aside  from  a  pro- 
mise," he  said. 

And  when  we  reached,  home  we  found  a  messen 

ger  and  a  letter  from  Lettice,  saying  Lady  Lucy  had 

been  summoned  to  attend  the  Queen  at  Windsor, 

that  Lettice  had  accompanied  her,  and  that  Harry 

20 


230 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


Davenant  and  Sir  Walter,  being  engaged  about  the 
king's  person,  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  had  come  to  es- 
cort them. 

"  The  Princess  Mary  is  about  to  be  married  to  the 
Prince  of  Orange,"  Lettice  wrote ;  "  and  as  the 
queen  is  to  accompany  her  to  the  Low  Countries, 
she  wishes  to  see  my  mother  before  she  leaves  the 
country." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  service  to  us  all  if  the  queen 
would  stay  away  for  ever,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy — 
and  she  expressed  the  feeling  of  a  large  part  of  the 
nation — "  the  king  would  lose  the  worst  of  his  evil 
counsellors." 

"That  depends,"  said  my  Father,  sadly,  "on 
whether  the  king  is  not  his  own  worst  counsellor. 
If  the  evil  has  its  origin  in  others,  the  queen  may 
indeed  injure  him  more  by  remaining  here.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  may  succour  him  more  on  the 
Continent." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  her 
absence  may  be  a  blessing  to  Lady  Lucy  and  Mis- 
tress Lettice.  For  that  child  is  not  without  gra- 
cious dispositions.  Last  week  she  called  when  every 
one  else  was  out,  and  wishing  to  turn  the  time  to 
account,  I  set  her  to  read  aloud  from  the  sermons  of 
good  Mr.  Adams  ;  and  she  read  two  and  part  of  the 
third,  only  twice  going  to  the  window  to  see  if  any 
one  was  coming,  and  never  even  looking  up,  after  I 
once  asked  her  if  she  was  tired." 

"  Do  you  think  she  really  enjoyed  them,  A  ant 
Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked ;  knowing  how  difficult  it  was 
to  ascertain  Lettice's  distastes,  on  account  of  her 


TEE  DA  VENANTS. 


ZJJ 


predominant  taste  of  doing  what  pleased  other 
peojjle. 

"  I  think  better  of  the  child  than  to  deem  she 
would  seem  pleased  with  aught  she  did  not  really 
like,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy  ;  and,  although  unconvinc- 
ed, I  rejoiced  that  Aunt  Dorothy  had  fallen  under 
the  spell. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  first  sermon  was  '  The  Spiritual  Navigator 
Bound  for  the  Holy  Land,'  about  the  glassy  sea ; 
and  she  said  it  was  near  as  pretty  reading  as  Spen- 
ser's '  Faery  Queen ' — a  remark  which,  though  it 
showed  some  lack  of  spiritual  discernment,  was 
something,  in  that  it  showed  she  was  entertained. 
The  second  was  '  Heaven's  Gate ; '  and  when  we 
came  to  the  place  about  the  gate  being  in  our  own 
heart, — '  Great  manors  have  answerable  porches. 
Heaven  must  needs  be  spacious,  when  a  little  star 

ied  in  a  far  lower  orb  exceeds  the  earth  in  quan- 
tity ;  yet  it  hath  a  low  gate,  not  a  lofty  coming  in.' 
And  she  said  she  had  thought  the  Gate  of  Heaven 
was  only  opened  when  we  die,  not  here  while  we  live, 
and  it  was  a  strange  thing  to  think  on.  The  third 
sermon  was  '  Semper  Idem,  the  Immutable  Mercy 
of  Jesus  Christ,'  and  in  that  we  did  not  read  far ; 
for  when  she  read  '  the  sun  of  divinity  is  the  Scrip- 
ture, the  sun  of  Scripture  is  the  gospel,  the  sun  of 
the  gospel  is  Jesus  Christ.  Xor  is  this  the  centre 
of  his  word  only,  but  of  our  rest.  Thou  hast  made 
us  for  thee,  O  Christ,  and  the  heart  is  unquiet  till  it 
rest  in  thee ;  seeking,  we  may  find  Him — he  is 
ready;  finding,  we  may  still  seek  Him;  he  is  infi- 


232  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

nite,' — her  voice  trembled,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  she  looked  up  and  said,  '  I  suppose  that  is 
what  the  other  sermon  means  by  entering  the  Gate  of 
Heaven  now.'  And  I  deem  that  a  wise  thing  for  a 
child  to  say,  brought  up  as  she  has  been  under  the 
very  walls  of  Babylon.  And  the  poor  young 
thing's  ways  pleased  me  so  that  I  gave  her  the 
three  sermons  to  keep.  And  she  promised  to  set 
store  by  them,  and  treasure  them  in  a  cedarn  box 
she  hath,  together  Avith  some  books  by  Dr.  Taylor. 
And  although  Dr.  Taylor  is  an  Arminian,  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  cross  the  child.  Especially  as  books 
are  not  like  us ;  they  are  none,  the  worse  for  being 
in  bad  company." 

But  Roger  made  no  comment.  "  Only  the  next 
Sunday,  as  we  were  walking  home  from  church  to- 
gether, he  said  sorrowfully — 

"  Oh,  Olive,  so  ready  to  be  pleased  with  every- 
thing as  she  is,  so  pleased  to  please  every  one,  so 
sure  to  please,  so  true  and  generous,  so  ready  to  be- 
lieve good  of  every  one  ;  that  she  should  be  launch- 
ed into  that  false  Court !  I  shall  always  dread  to 
hear  any  one  say, 'To-morrow.'  If  we  could  only 
liave  known,  there  were  so  many  things  one  might 
have  said  or  have  left  unsaid.  The  last  thing  I  said 
to  her  seems  to  me  now  so  harsh.  She  will  always 
think  of  us  as  rebuking  her.  And  her  last  look  was 
a  defiant  little  smile !  If  we  could  only  know  what 
days,  or  what  words,  are  to  be  the  last.  To-mor- 
row," he  added,  "  she  was  to  have  met  us  at  the  old 
well,  and  now  she  is  at  the  king's  Court ;  and  be- 
tweer.  us  lies  a  great  gulf  of  civil  war;  and  the 


THE  DA  VENANT8. 


233 


whole  country  in  such  tumult,  it  seems  a  kind  of 
disloyalty  to  England  to  think  of  our  own  private 
sorroAvs." 

And  Roger  spoke  but  too  truly.  For  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say  how  deeply  that  act  of  the  king's  in  in- 
vading the  Parliament  had  incensed  the  whole  na- 
tion. It  showed,  as  notliing  else  coidd  have  done, 
my  Father  said,  that  what  was  holy  ground  to  the 
nation  Avas  mere  common  soil  to  tlie  king.  Men 
had  borne  to  have  soldiers  illegally  billeted  on  their 
homes  ;  fathers  torn,  against  law,  from  their  fami- 
lies, and  left  to  die  in  prisons.  Each  such  act  of 
tyranny  was  exceptional  or  partial,  and  might  be 
redressed  by  patient  appeals  to  our  ancient  laws. 
Much  of  personal  liberty  might  be  sacrificed  rather 
than  violate  the  order  on  which  all  true  liberty  is 
based.  But  the  Parliament  House  during  the  sit- 
ting of  the  Parliament  was  the  sacred  hearth  of  the 
nation  itself  Every  man  felt  his  own  hearth  vio- 
lated in  its  violation.  Henceforth  nothing  was  sa- 
cred, nothing  was  safe,  throughout  the  land.  And 
from  that  day,  my  Father,  dreading  civil  war  as 
only  a  soldier  can  who  knows  what  the  terrors  of 
war  are,  never  seemed  to  have  a  doubt  that  it  must 
come.  Nor,  candid  as  he  was,  to  the  verge  of  Aveak- 
ness  (as  Aunt  Dorothy  thought),  in  his  anxiety  to 
allow  what  was  just  to  all  sides,  did  he  ever  seem 
after  that  to  doubt,  if  the  strife  came,  on  which  side 
he  must  stand. 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  rigid  adherences 
to  ancient  forms,  with  the  boldest  spirit  of  liberty, 
20* 


234 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


in  that  scene  in  Parliament  on  tlie  3rd  of  January 
1642. 

Dr.  Antony  wrote  us  how  all  the  members  rose 
uncovered  before  the  king,  how  the  speaker  on  his 
knee  beside  his  own  chair,  Avhich  the  king  had 
usurped,  refused  to  answer  His  Majesty's  questions 
as  to  the  absence  of  the  five  members,  whom  his 
eye  vainly  sought  in  their  vacant  places,  saying : 
"  Please  your  Majesty,  I  have  neither  eyes  to  see, 
nor  ears  to  hear,  nor  tongue  to  speak  in  this  place, 
save  as  the  House  directs  me."  "  Words,"  wrote 
Dr.  Antony,  "  respectful  enough  for  a  courtier  of 
Nebuchadnezzar,  with  a  meaning  as  kingly  as  those 
of  any  Ctesar,  Not  a  disrespectful  word  or  gesture 
was  directed  against  the  king  as  he  retired  baffled 
from  the  House,  saying,  that  he  saw  the  birds  had 
flown,  and  protesting  that  he  had  intended  no 
breach  of  privilege.  But  before  he  descended  the 
steps  of  the  Hall  to  rejoin  the  armed  guard  outside, 
the  civil  war,  my  Father  said,  had  begun. 

The  next  day  the  king  had  returned  baffled  from 
another  attempt  to  arrest  the  five  members  in  the 
city.  The  aldermen,  true  representatives  of  the 
great  merchants  of  England,  were  as  resolute  as  the 
Parliament.  They  made  His  Majesty  a  great  feast, 
but  no  concessions. 

Within  a  week  a  thousand  seamen  from  the  good 
ships  in  the  broad  Thames  had  offered  their  servi- 
ces to  guard  the  Parliament  from  their  refuge  in  the 
city  by  water  to  Westminster,  and  as  many  'pren- 
tices had  entreated  to  be  jiermitted  to  render  a  sini- 
iliir  service  by  land;  four  thousand  freeholders  from 


THE  DA  VEXANTS.  235 

Buckingham sliii'e  (Hampden's  county)  had  entered 
London  on  horseback  with  petitions  against  wicked 
councillors,  and  (on  the  10th  of  January)  the  king 
had  left  Whitehall  for  Hampden  Court. 

But  no  man  knew  he  would  not  return  thither 
until  seven  years  later,  on  another  January  day, 
never  to  leave  it  more. 

~  So  few  last  days  come  to  us  clothed  in  mourning 
announcing  themselves  as  the  last.  We  step  smil- 
ing into  the  ferry-boat  which  is  to  carry  us  for  a 
little  while,  as  we  think,  across  the  narrow  stream, 
and  Avave  our  hands  and  say  to  those  who  watch 
us  from  the  familiar  shore,  "  To-morrow  I"  and  be- 
fore we  are  aware  the  stream  is  a  sea,  the  ferry-boat 
is  the  boat  of  Charon,  the  familiar  shore  is  out  of 
sight ;  the  window  of  the  Banquetting  house  has 
become  the  threshold  of  the  scaffold,  and  to-morrow 
is  eternity. 


Chapter   VII. 


I  HEN  I  think  of  the  months  which  pa^«ed 
between  the  king's  attempted  arrest  of 
the  five  members  and  the  first  battle  of 
the  Civil  War,  I  sometimes  wonder  how 
any  one  can  ever  undertake  to  write  history. 

In  the  little  bit  of  the  world  known  to  us,  parties 
were  so  strangely  intertwined,  so  strangely  divided, 
and  so  heterogeneously  composed.  The  motives 
that  drew  men  to  one  side  or  the  other  were  so 
various  and  so  mixed,  that  I  think  scarce  one  of 
those  we  knew  fought  on  the  same  side  for  the  same 
reason  ;  while  the  differences  which  separated  many 
men  in  the  same  party  Avere  certainly  wider  in  many 
respects  than  those  which  separated  them  from 
others  against  whom  they  fought. 

How  world-wide  the  difference  between  Harry 
Davenant  and  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor !  How  nicely 
balanced  the  scales  that  made  my  Father  and  Jolm 
Plampden  "  rebels,"  and  Harry  Davenant  or  Lord 
Falkland  "  malignants !" 

Yet  the  distinctions  were  real,  at  least  so  it  seems 

(236) 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


237 


to  me.  Nor  do  I  see  how,  if  all  were  to  be  again  start- 
ing from  the  same  point,  either  could  avoid  coming 
to  the  same  issue. 

Harry  Davenant  believed  revolution  to  be  ruin, 
and  chose  the  most  arbitrary  rule  instead. 

My  Father,  equally  dreading  revolution,  believed 
the  king  to  be  the  great  revolutionist ;  by  his  arbi- 
trary will  changing  times  and  laws  ;  by  his  hopeless 
untruth  subverting  the  foundations  of  society. 
Slowly  he  stepped  down  into  the  cold  bitter  waters 
of  civil  war,  having  for  his  watch-word,  "  Loyalty 
to  England  and  her  laws  !"  His  chief  hope  lay  in 
Mr.  Hampden. 

Roger  again,  and  others  like  him,  hoping  more 
from  liberty  than  he  feared  from  revolution,  and 
believing  the  contest  would  be  fiery,  but  brief  and 
decisive,  plunged  gallantly  into  the  flood,  with  Li- 
berty blazoned  on  their  banners  ;  liberty  to  do  right 
and  to  speak  the  truth.  His  chosen  captain  was 
Mr.  Cromwell,  in  whose  troop  he  served  from 
the  first.  God  only  knew  the  bitter  pang  it  cost 
him  (I  knew  it  not  till  years  afterwards)  to  take 
his  post  on  the  field  which  must,  he  knew,  make  so 
great  a  gulf  between  him  and  the  Davenants.  It 
was  sehlom  Roger  spoke  of  what  he  felt ;  scarce 
ever  of  what  he  suflered. 

Dr.  Antony  wrote,  meanwhile,  from  London  : — 

"  Chirurgeons,  like  women,  have  indeed  their 
place  on  the  battle-field,  and  not  out  of  reach  of  the 
danger.  But  their  work  is  with  the  wounded,  and 
their  weapons  are  turned  against  the  enemy  of  all ; 
the  '  last  enemy,'  scarce  to  be  destroyed  in  this  war  ! 


238  THE  BRAYTONS  AND 

I  liope  to  succour  on  the  battle-field  those  I  sought 
to  comfort  in  the  prisons.  God  gi-ant  I  find  the  air 
of  the  field  as  wholesome  to  the  spirits  of  my  patients 
as  that  of  the  dungeon." 

Job  Forster  never  hesitated  for  a  moment  as  to 
which  was  the  right  side.  To  him  England  was  in 
one  sense  Canaan  to  be  conquered,  in  another  the 
Chosen  Land  to  be  kept  sacred.  The  king  was  Saul ; 
or,  in  other  aspects,  Silion  king  of  the  Amorites,  or 
Og  king  of  Bashan.  The  Parliament,  at  first,  and  then 
the  Lord  Protector  and  the  army,  were  the  chosen 
people,  Moses,  Joshua,  David.  His  only  hesitation 
was  whether  he  himself  ought  to  fight  on  the  field, 
or  to  work  at  the  forge  and  protect  Rachel  and  the 
village  at  home.  "  The  Almighty,"  he  said,  "  has 
not  given  me  this  big  body  of  mine  for  nought.  God 
forbid  it  should  be  said  of  Job  Forster,  Why  abodest 
thou  amidst  the  shee]3-folds  to  hear  the  bleatings  of 
the  flocks  ? — that  is,  the  ring  of  the  hammer  and 
anvil,  which  is  as  the  bleating  of  my  flocks  to  me. 
Yet  there  is  Rachel !  And  the  old  law  was  merciful ; 
and  if  it  forbid  a  man  to  leave  his  new-married 
wife,  how  should  I  answer  for  leaving  her  who  has 
more  need  of  me,  and  has  none  but  me  ?  and  she  so 
ailing,  and  I,  to  whom  the  Lord  has  said  as  j^lain 
as  words  can  speak,  '  Be  thou  better  to  her  than  ten 
sons.' " 

It  was  perhaps  the  first  perplexity  he  had  never 
confided  to  her.  and  sorely  was  Job  exercised,  until 
one  morning  in  August  he  came  to  my  Father  with 
a  lightened  countenance,  and  said, — 

"Mr.  Drayton,  she  has  given  the  word,  as  plaiu  as 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS. 


239 


ever  Deborah  spoke  to  Barak.     I've  got  my  com- 
mission, and  I'm  ready  to  go  this  night." 

Afterwards,  in  an  intimate  talk  by  a  camp-fire, 
he  once  tokl  Roger  how  that  morning,  between  the 
lights,  he  woke  np  and  saw  her  kneeling  down 
with  her  arms  crossed  upon  the  Book,  and  her  eyes 
raised  xip  to  heaven,  and  running  fast  with  tears. 
"  I  lifted  myself,"  he  said,  "  on  my  elbow,  and 
I  looked  at  her.  But  I  didn't  like  to  speak;  I 
saw  there  was  something  going  on  between  her 
soul  and  the  Lord.  And  last  she  rose  and  came  to 
me  with  a  face  as  pale  as  the  sheet,  but  without  a 
tear  in  her  eyes  or  a  tremble  in  her  voice,  and  she 
said,  '  Job,  thou  shalt  have  thy  way ;  the  Lord  has 
made  me  ready  to  give  thee  up.'  And  I  said, 
sheepish-like, '  How  canst  thee  know  what  I  willed  ? 
I  never  said  aught  to  thee  !'  Then  she  smiled  and 
said,  '  Thee  never  thinks  thee  says  aught  except 
thee  speaks  plain  enough  for  the  town-crier.  Have 
not  I  heard  thy  sighs,  and  seen  thy  hankering  looks 
whenever  any  of  the  lads  listed  these  weeks  past  ? 
But  I  could  not  speak  before;  now  I  can.  For  I've 
gotten  the  word  from  the  Lord  for  thee  and  for  me, 
and  woe  is  me  if  I  hold  my  peace.'  The  word  for 
me  was  :  '  Xow  I  know  that  thou  fearest  God,  see- 
hig  thou  hasf  not  withheld  thy  son,  thy  only  son, 
from  me.'  '  And  that,'  said  she,  '  means  thee,  Job  ; 
for  thou  are  more  to  me  than  that,'  said  she,  '  more 
than  that,  only  and  all.  I  have  no  j^romise  to  hold 
thee  by,  like  Abraham  had  for  Isaac,  yet  if  the  Lord 
calls,  what  can  I  do  ?  '  And  there  her  voice  gave 
way,  but  she  hurried  on — '  And  I've  gotten  a  word 


240  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

for  tlie<?,  ^^  Have  not  I  commanded  thee?  Be  strong 
and  of  a  good  courage,  for  the  Lord  thy  God  is  with 
thee  wheresoever  thou  goest.'"  "So,"  conchided 
Job,"  I  got  my  word  of  command  ;  and  there  was  no 
more  to  be  said.  We  knelt  down  together  and 
gave  ourselves  up ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  fairly  day 
I  came  to  give  in  my  name." 

That  was  Job  Forster's  motive.  He  believed  ho 
had  the  word  of  command  direct  from  the  Kins:  of 
kings.  And  this  was  the  motive,  I  believe,  of 
hundreds  and  thous<and  more  or  less  like  him ;  men 
who,  as  the  Lord  Protector  said  when  the  strife  was 
over,  were  "  never  beaten."  Gloriously  distinct 
the  two  armies  and  the  two  causes  seemed  to  him, 
perplexed  by  no  subtle  perceptions  of  right  on  the 
wrong  side,  or  of  wrong  on  the  right. 

To  Aunt  Dorothy  also  matters  were  equally 
clear,  although  her  point  of  view  was  not  precisely 
the  same,  and  in  the  subsequent  subdivisions  she 
and  Job  became  sei-iously  opposed.  Aunt  Dorothy 
believed  that  she  saw  in  the  New  Testament  a 
model  of  church  ritual  and  government,  minutely 
defined  to  the  last  stave  or  pin  or  loop  of  the  taber* 
nacle;  and  rather  that  abandon  the  minutest  of 
these  sacred  details  she  would  willingly  have  suf 
fered  any  temporal  loss.  The  whole  Presbyterian 
order  of  church  government  she  saw  clearly  unfolded 
in  the  Acts  and  the  E23istles  ;  and  that  godly  men 
like  Mr.  Cromwell  on  the  other  hand,  or  learned  men 
like  Dr.  Jeremy  Taylor  on  the  other,  should  fail  to 
see  it  also,  was  a  miracle  only  to  be  accounted  for  by 
the  blinding  power  of  Satan,  especially  predicted  in 


THE  BAVEKANTS.  241 

these  last  days.  With  regard  to  the  Government 
of  the  State  also,  her  belief  was  equally  definite, 
derived,  as  she  considered,  from  the  same  Divine 
source.  The  king  was  "  the  anointed  of  the  Lord." 
In  this,  she  said.  Lady  Lucy  had  undoubted  insight 
into  the  truth.  His  wicked  councillors  mio-ht  be 
put  to  death,  as  traitore  at  once  against  him  and  the 
realm ;  armies  might  by  his  Parliament  be  raised 
against  him  ;  but  it  must  be  in  his  name,  with  the 
purpose  of  setting  him  free  from  those  evil  coun- 
cillors by  whom  he  was  vii-tually  kept  a  prisoner ; 
his  judgment  being  by  them  enthralled,  so  that  he 
was  irresponsible  for  his  acts,  and  might  quite  law- 
fully by  his  faithful  covenanted  subjects  be  placed, 
respectfully,  under  bodily  restraint,  if  thereby  his 
mind  might  be  disenthralled  from  the  hard  bondage 
of  the  wicked.  But  beyond  this  no  subject  might 
go.  The  king's  person  was  sacred;  no  profane 
hand  could  be  lifted  with  impunity  against  hiixu 
Any  difficulty,  disorder,  or  evil,  must  be  endured, 
rather  than  touch  a  hair  of  the  consecrated  head. 
This  also  was  a  conviction  for  which  Aunt  Dorothy 
was  fully  prei^arcd  to  encounter  any  amount  of  con- 
tradiction or  disaster.  The  narrow  ridge  on  which 
she  walked  erect,  without  wavering  or  misgiving, 
was,  she  was  persuaded,  marked  out  as  manifestly 
as  the  path  of  the  Israelites  through  the  Red  Sea 
by  the  wall  of  impassable  waters  on  either  hand, 
by  the  pillar  of  cloud  and  fire  behind.  To  this  nar- 
row way  she  would  have  allured,  led,  or  if  needful 
compelled  every  human  soul,  for  their  good,  and  the 
glory  of  God.     No  vicissitudes  of  fortune  aliected 


242 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


her  convictions ;  the  sorrows  of  all  wlio  deviated 
from  this  narrow  path  being,  in  her  belief,  from  the 
Sword  of  the  Avenger,  while  the  sorrows  of  those 
who  kept  to  it  were  from  the  Rod  of  the  Comforter. 
My  Father's  adherence  to  very  much  the  same 
course  of  conduct,  from  a  belief  of  its  expediency, 
and  Aunt  Gretel's  from  the  tenderness  of  sympathy 
which  inevitably  drew  her  to  the  side  on  Avhich 
there  was  the  most  suffering,  seemed  to  Aunt  Do- 
rothy happy  accidents,  or  special  and  uncovenantcd 
mercies,  singularly  vouchsafed  to  persons  of  their 
uncertain  and  indefinite  opinions.  Not  that  Aunt 
Dorothy's  nature  was  in  any  way  vulgar,  small,  and 
narrow.  Her  heart  was  deep  and  high,  if  not  always 
wide.  To  her  convictions  she  would  have  sacrificed 
first  herself,  then  the  universe.  Her  convenience  she 
would  have  sacrificed  to  the  comfort  of  the  meanest, 
human  being  in  the  universe.  She  would  not  have 
swerA'ed  from  her  ridge  of  orthodoxy  for  the  dearest 
love  on  earth.  She  would  have  stooped  from  it 
to  save  or  help  the  most  degraded  wanderer,  or  her 
greatest  enemy. 

But  the  most  dangerous  conviction  she  held  was 
unfortunately  one  of  the  deepest.  It  was  that  of 
her  own  practical  infallibility.  It  was  strange  that, 
with  the  profoundest  and  most  practical  convictions 
of  her  own  sinfulness,  she  never  could  learn  the  im- 
possibility that  all  error  should  be  removed  whilst 
any  sin  remains ;  that  there  should  be  no  darkness 
in  the  mind  while  there  is  so  much  in  the  heart. 
Strange,  but  not  uncommon.  Her  sin  she  acknowl- 
edged as  hci' uwn.     Her  creed  she  identified  entirely 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


243 


with  the  Holy  Scriptures.  It  was  not  her  own,  she 
said,  it  was  God's  truth  to  the  minutest  point,  and, 
as  such,  she  would  have  suiFered  or  fought  for  every 
clause. 

Nevertheless,  with  advancing  years  Roger  and  I 
grew  into  a  deeper  reverence  for  her  character.  If 
in  our  childhood  she  represented  to  us  Justice  with 
the  sword  and  scales  (often  in  our  belief  very  ef- 
fectually blindfolded),  whilst  Aunt  Gretel  enacted 
counteracting  Mercy  ;  in  after  years  we  grew  rather 
to  look  on  them  as  Trutli  and  Tenderness,  acting 
not  counter  to  each  othei',  but  in  combination.  And 
in  this  imperfect  Avorld,  where  truth  and  love  are 
never  blended  in  perfect  proportions  in  any  one 
character,  it  is  difficult  to  say  on  which  we  leant  the 
most.  It  was  strange  to  see  how  often  their  op- 
posite attributes  led  them  to  the  same  actions. 
"  Speaking  the  truth  in  love,"  was  Aunt  Dorothy's 
maxim;  and  if  the  love  were  sometimes  lost  in  the 
emphasis  on  tnith^  neither  truth  nor  love  were  ever 
Bacrificed  to  selfish  interest.  "  First  Y>\\v(i  th,e.a  peace- 
able" was  her  wisdom ;  and  I  cannot  say  she  alv/ays 
got  as  far  as  the  "  gentle,  and  easy  to  be  entreated." 
But  it  is  something  to  be  able  to  look  back  on  a  life 
like  hers,  unprofaned  by  one  stain  of  untruthfulness, 
or  by  one  low  or  petty  aim.  It  is  only  in  looking 
back  that  we  learn  what  a  rock  of  strength  she  was 
to  us  all,  or  how  the  tenderest  memories  of  home 
often  cling  like  mosses  around  such  rocks ;  the 
more  closely,  sometimes,  for  their  very  ruggedncss. 
Thus  our  home  at  Netherby  contained  various  elc- 
ineuts  ecclesiastical  and  political  as  well  as  moral, 


244 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


all  of  which,  however,  at  the  commencement  of 
the  civil  wars  were  gathered  together  under  the 
watchAvord,  ''Loyalty  above  all  to  the  King  of 
kings.     Liberty  to  obey  God." 

It  was  this  indeed,  that,  with  all  our  iutei-nal  dif- 
ferences as  to  church  government  and  secular  go- 
vernment, united  us  into  one  party.  WhateAcr 
varieties  of  opinion  as  to  church  government  our 
party  contained :  Presbyterian,  Independent,  Mode- 
rate Episcopal,  or  Quaker;  classical,  republican, 
aristocratic,  English  constitutional,  or,  finally,  the 
adherents  of  the  Deliverer,  chosen  (they  deemed) 
as  divinely  and  to  be  obeyed  as  implicitly  as  any 
Hebrew  judge — all  believed  in  the  theocracy. 

The  liberty  our  party  contended  lor  was  no  mere 
unloosing  of  bonds.  It  was  liberty  to  obey  the 
highest  law.  It  was  no  mere  levelling  to  clear  an 
empty  space  for  new  experiments.  It  was  sweeping 
away  ruins  to  clear  a  platform  for  the  kingdom  of 
God. 

And  this  was  another  point  in  which  the  recol- 
lections of  my  life  make  me  feel  how  vast  and  com- 
plicated an  undertaking  it  must  be  to  write  history, 

In  our  early  days  we  used  to  be  given  histories 
of  the  Chui'ch  and  histories  of  the  world.  Profane 
histories  and  sacred  histories  as  neatly  and  definite- 
ly separated  as  if  the  Church  and  the  world  had 
been  two  distinct  planets. 

But  in  our  own  times,  at  least,  it  seems  to  me 
absolutel}''  impossible  thus  to  separate  them.  The 
Battle  of  Dunbar  was  to  Oliver  Cromwell  and  his 
army  as  religious  an  act  as  their  prayer-meeting  at 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  245 

Windsor.  The  righting  the  poor  folks  who  lost 
their  rights  on  the  Soke  of  Somersham  was,  I  be- 
lieve, as  religious  an  act  to  Mr.  Cromwell  as  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  gospel-lectures.  And  as  with  the 
actions  so  with  the  persons.  Who  can  say  which 
persous  of  our  time  belong  to  ecclesiastical  and 
which  to  secular  history  ? 

Does  the  history  of  the  Convocation,  of  the  Star- 
Chamber,  or  of  the  Westminster  Assembly,  belong 
to  sacred  history ;  and  the  history  of  the  Long  Par- 
liament, where  decisions  were  made  for  time  and 
eternity,  or  of  the  battle-fields  whence  thousands 
went  to  their  last  account,  to  profane?  Is  the 
making  of  confessions  of  faith  a  religious  act,  and 
the  living  by  them  or  dying  for  them  secular  ?  Are 
Archbishop  Laud,  Bishop  Williams,  Mr.  Baxter, 
Dr.  Owen,  Mr.  Howe,  ecclesiastical  persons;  and 
Lord  Falkland,  Mr.  Hampden,  Mr.  Pym,  or  Oliver 
Cromwell,  secular  ? 

In  our  times,  as  in  my  own  life,  it  seems  to  me 
absolutely  impossible  to  say  where  sacred  history 
begins  and  where  the  profane  ends. 

My  consolation  is  that  it  seems  to  me  much  the 
same  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  We  call  Genesis  sa- 
cred history ;  and  what  is  it,  chiefly,  but  a  story  of 
family  life  ?  What  is  Exodus  bui  a,  record  of  na- 
tional deliverances  ?  What  are  the  Chronicles  and 
Kings  but  histories  of  wars  and  sieges,  interspersed 
with  pathetic  family  stories?  What,  indeed,  are 
the  gospels  themselves  but  the  record,  not  of  creeds 
or  ecclesiastical  conflicts,  but  of  a  life,  the  Life, 
coming  in  contact  with  every  form  of  sickness,  and 
21* 


246  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

sin,  and  sorrow  in  this  our  common  everyday  hu- 
man life  ?  What  would  the  gospels  be  with  noth- 
ing but  the  Sabbaths  and  the  synagogues,  and  the 
Sanhedrim,  and  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  left  in 
them  ?  With  the  widow's  only  son  left  out  of  them, 
and  the  ruler's  little  daughter,  and  the  woraan  who 
was  a  sinner,  and  the  five  thousand  fed  on  the  grassy 
slopes  of  Galilee,  and  the  one  young  man  who  de- 
parted sorroAvfvd  'for  he  had  great  possessions?' 
Would  it  have  been  more  truly  Church  history  for 
being  the  less  human  history  ? 

The  Bible  history  seems  to  me  to  be  a  history  of 
all  human  life  in  relation  to  God.  The  sins  of  the 
Bible  are  terribly  manifest,  secular  sins ;  injustice, 
impurity,  covetousness,  cruelty.  Its  virtues  are 
simple  homely,  positive  virtues ;  truth,  uprightness, 
kindness,  mercy,  gratitude,  courage,  gentleness ; 
such  sins  and  virtues  as  make  the  weal  or  woe  of 
nations  and  of  homes.  Ordinary  ecclesiastical  his- 
tory seems  to  me  too  often  a  record  of  secular  strug- 
gles for  consecrated  things,  and  names,  and  places, 
and  of  selfish  stri\angs  for  which  shall  be  greatest. 
The  sins  it  blames,  too  often  mere  transgressions  of 
rules,  mistakes  as  to  religious  terms,  neglect  of  the 
tithe  of  mint,  anise,  and  cummin.  The  virtues  it 
commends,  alao  !  too  often  negative  renunciations 
of  certain  indulgences,  scruples  as  to  certain  obsei-- 
vances,  fasting  twice  in  the  week ;  things  which, 
done  or  undone,  leave  the  heart  the  same. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


247 


But  underneath  all  this  a  Church  history  like  that 
of  the  Bible  is  being  silently  lived  on  earth,  is  being 
silently  written  in  heaven.  Little  glimpses  of  it  we 
see  here  from  time  to  time.  Wliat  will  it  be  when 
Ave  see  it  all  ? 

All  through  that  summer  the  country  was  astir 
with  the  enlistings  for  the  king  and  the  Parlia- 
ment. 

These  began  about  April. 

On  the  23d  of  February,  Queen  Henrietta  Maria 
had  embarked  at  Dover  for  the  Low  Countries,  with 
the  Princess  Mary  and  the  crown  jewels. 

From  the  time  that  she  was  in  safety  the  king's 
tone  to  the  Parliament  began  (it  was  thought)  to 
change.  Always  chivalrously  regardful  of  hei',  and 
indifferent  to  danger  for  himself  (for  none  of  his 
father's  timidity  could  ever  be  charged  to  him),  he 
began  to  give  more  open  answers  to  the  popular 
demands.  He  hoped  also,  it  was  said,  much  from 
the  queen's  eloquence  and  exertions  in  his  cause  on 
the  Continent.  It  was  his  misfortune,  my  Father 
said,  that  any  favourable  turn  in  his  affairs  made 
him  unyielding ;  and  thus  it  hai^pened  that  he  only 
came  to  terms  when  his  cause  was  at  the  worst,  so 
that  his  treaties  had  the  double  disadvantage  of 
being  made  under  the  most  adverse  circumstances, 
and  with  men  who  knew  from  repeated  exj^erience 
that  not  one  of  his  most  sacred  promises  would  be 
kept  if  he  could  help  it.  Such  virtues  as  he  pos- 
sessed seemed  always  to  come  into  action  at  the 
jvj'ong  moment  j  his  courage  Avlien  it  could  only 


248 


THE  DRAYTOIiS  AND 


kindle  irritation;  his  graciousness  when  it  could 
only  inspire  contempt. 

The  queen  being  safely  out  of  the  country,  and 
the  king  safely  out  of  the  capital,  from  his  refuge 
at  York  came  the  renewal  of  the  old  irritating  de- 
mand for  tonnage  and  poundage,  rooting  the  oppo- 
sition firmer  than  ever  in  the  irrevocable  distrust 
of  the  royal  word. 

The  demand  of  the  king  for  the  old  usurpations 
was  met  by  the  assertion  of  the  Parliament  of  old 
rights,  with  the  demand  for  nev/  powers  to  secure 
these;  by  the  assertion  of  the  power  of  the  purse, 
and  the  demand  for  j^ower  over  the  militia. 

But  to  us  women  at  Netherby  all  these  negotia- 
tions and  fencings  between  the  king  and  the  Par- 
liament sounded  so  much  like  v/hat  had  gone  on  for 
so  long,  everything  was  couched  in  such  orderly 
and  constitutional  language,  tliat  it  was  difficult  to 
think  anything  more  than  Protestations,  Pemon- 
strances,  Breach  of  Privilege,  and  Protests  for 
Privilege,  would  ever  come  of  it. 

The  first  thing  that  roused  me  to  the  sense  that 
it  might  end  not  in  words  but  in  battles,  was  the 
news  that  reached  us  one  April  evening  that  the 
king  had  gone  in  person  with  three  hundred  horse- 
men to  the  gates  of  Hull,  and  had  summoned  Sir 
John  Ilotham  to  surrender  the  city  ;  that  Sir  John 
had  refused  to  surrender  or  to  admit  the  king's 
troops  (ofiering  all  loyal  courtesy  at  the  same  time 
to  the  king  himself) ;  that  the  king  and  his  three 
himdred  had  thereon  gone  off  baffled  to  Beverly, 
and  there  proclaimed  Sii*  John  Hotham  a  traitox'. 


THE  DAVENANTS. 


249 


Tliat  night  I  said  to  Aunt  Gretel, — 

"  This  seems  to  me  altogether  to  introduc\3  a  new 
set  of  terms  and  things.  Instead  of  Protestations 
and  Remonstrances,  we  hear  of  Summonses  and 
Surrenders.  The  king  and  his  cavaliers  repulsed 
from  the  closed  gates  of  one  of  his  own  cities '. 
Aunt  Gretel,  these  are  new  words  to  us ;  does  not 
this  look  like  war  ?" 

And  she  replied,  in  a  tremulous  voice, — 

*'  Alas,  sweet  heart,  these  are  no  new  words  to 
me.  Your  people  seem  to  arrange  many  things 
others  light  about,  by  talking  about  them.  And  it 
is  difficult  for  me  to  say  what  words  mean  with 
you.  But  these  words  are  indeed  terribly  familiar 
to  me.  And  in  my  countiy  they  would  certainly 
mean  war." 

And  that  night  I  well  remember  the  perplexity 
that  crossed  my  prayers,  whether  in  praying  as 
usual  for  the  king  I  might  not  be  praying  against 
the  Parliament,  and  against  my  Father  and  Roger, 
and  the  nation ;  until  after  debating  the  matter  in 
my  own  mind  for  some  time,  I  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  on  whatever  dark  mountains  scattered, 
and  by  whatever  deep  waters  divided,  to  Him 
there  is  still  "  One  flock,  one  Shepherd,"  and  that 
however  ill  I  knew  how  to  ask.  He  knew  well  what 
to  give. 

J.ETTICE    DAVENANT'S     DIARY. 
{From  another  source.) 
"  York^  April,  1642. — It  has  actually  begun  at  last. 
The  rebellion  has  begun.     Sir  John  Hotham  (Sir  I 


250  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

hesitate  to  call  him,,  for  what  knight  is  worthy  the 
name  who  turns  his  disloyal  sword  against  the  vory 
Fomitain  of  knighthood  and  of  all  honor?)  has  clooed 
the  gates  of  Hull  against  the  summons — against  the 
very  voice  and  person  of  His  Sacred  Majesty.  At 
once  the  king  withdrew  to  Beverley,  and  under  the 
shadow  of  the  grand  old  Minster  proclaimed  the 
false  knight  a  traitor. 

"  The  rebellion  has  .begun,  but  every  one  says  it 
cannot  last  long.  Next  Christmas  at  latest  must 
see  us  all  at  peace  again ;  the  nation  once  more  at 
the  feet  of  the  king.  My  Mother  says  like  a  prodi- 
gal child ;  Sir  Launcelot  says  like  a  beaten  hound. 
Mobs,  says  he,  like  dogs,  can  only  learn  to  obey  by 
being  suffered  to  rebel  a  little,  and  then  being  whip- 
ped for  it.  (I  like  not  well  this  talk  of  Sir  Launce- 
lot. If  the  nation  is  like  a  hound,  at  what  point 
in  the  nation  does  the  dog-nature  begin,  and  the 
human  end  ?)  Speaking  so,  I  told  him,  we  might 
include  ourselves.  But  he  laughed,  and  said,  such 
discerning  of  spirits  requii'cd  no  mu-aculous  gift. 
Moreover,  he  said,  the  king  himself  had  once  com- 
pared the  Parliaments  to  '  cats,  to  be  tamed  wJien 
young  but  cursed  when  old ;'  and  had  called  his 
sailors  in  the  Thames  who  offered  to  guai'd  the  Par- 
liament '  water-rats.'  If  the  king  said  so,  I  confess 
I  think  His  Majesty  might  have  chosen  more  court- 
ly similes.  But  I  do  not  believe  he  did.  I  will 
never  believe  any  evil  of  His  Majesty,  whoever  says 
it,  scarcely  if  I  were  to  see  it  myself,  for  my  eye? 
might  be  deceived. 

"  Only  I  should  be  sorely  vexed  if  they  heard 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


251 


these  things  at  Netherby ;  because  they  never  said 
rough  things  of  any  one.  Especially  now  I  am  not 
there  to  explain  things.  For  I  am  not  allowed  to 
write  to  them,  nor  to  see  them  again,  until  things 
are  right  again  in  the  country;  which  makes  me 
wi'ite  this. 

"  However,  it  cannot  last  long.  Every  one  here 
agrees  in  that.  Every  one  except  Harry,  whom  we 
call  'II  Penseroso.'  He  sees  such  a  long  way,  and 
on  so  many  sides,  or  at  least  he  tries  to  do  so ;  and 
he  talks  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  and  the  "Wars 
in  Germany ;  as  if  there  were  any  resemblance  !  In 
Germany  there  were  kings  and  states  opposed.  In 
the  Wjfi'S  of  the  Roses  royal  persons,  with  some 
kind  of  claim  to  reio-n.  But  this  is  nothing^  but  flat 
rebellion.  The  family  against  the  flither;  swoi'n 
liegemen  against  their  sovereign  loi'd;  the  body 
against  the  head.  And  how  can  any  one  think  for 
a  moment  there  can  be  any  end  to  it  but  one,  and 
that  soon  ?  Yes ;  at  Christmas,  I  trust,  we  'Dave- 
nants  shall  be  at  the  Hall  again,  and  the  Draytons 
at  Netherby,  looking  back  to  the  end  of  this  frantic 
and  unnatural  outbreak. 

"  And  I  mean  to  be  most  generous  to  them  all 
about  it.  I  do  not  mean  even  to  say,  'I  always  told 
you  how  it  would  end.'  They  will  see,  and  that 
will  be  enough.  The  king  will  forgive  every  one, 
I  am  sure,  he  is  so  gracious  and  gentle — (he  spoke 
to  me  like  a  father  the  other  day,  and  yet  with  such 
knightly  deference  !) — except,  perhaps,  a  very  few, 
who  will  have  to  be  made  examples  of,  unless  they 
make  examples  of  themselves  by  running  out  of 


252 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


the  country,  which  I  hope  they  may.  For  having 
once  re-asserted  his  riglitful  authority,  the  king  will 
be  able  to  be  forgiving  without  being  suspected  of 
weakness.  There  need  not  be  any  more  poor  mis- 
taken people  set  in  the  pillory,  which  really  seems 
to  do  no  one  any  good,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  and  to 
make  every  one  so  exceedingly  angry.  The  Puri- 
tans (that  is,  those  among  them  who  have  any 
sense)  will  see  that  it  really  can  make  no  diifercnce 
whether  the  clergyman  says  the  jjrayers  in  a  white 
dress  or  a  black.  Perhaps  even  the  bishops  and 
archbishops  might  own  the  same.  Because,  al- 
though it  cannot  be  good  management  to  give  a 
naughty  child  its  way  for  crying,  if  it  stop^  crying 
and  is  good,  it  is  quite  another  thing. 

"  And  then  everything  would  go  on  delightfully. 
The  verij  troublesome  and  obstinate  people  (on  both 
sides,  I  think)  might,  perhaps,  all  go  to  America, 
some  to  the  north  and  some  to  the  south.  For  the 
American  plantations  are  very  Avide,  they  say,  and 
by  the  time  they  met — say  in  one  or  two  hundred 
years — their  great-great  gi-andchildren  might  have 
given  up  caring  so  much  about  the  colours  of  the 
vestments  and  the  titles  of  the  clergymen  who  do 
the  services  in  the  church.  So  that  by  that  time 
everything  woidd  go  on  delightfully  in  America  as 
well  as  in  England.  And  by  next  Christmas,  from 
what  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  about  here  say,  I 
should  think  this  might  all  have  begun.  Only  just 
now  this  little  unpleasant  contest  has  to  be  gone 
through  first.  And  I  am  very  much  afraid  as  to 
what   Mr.  Drayton   and  Roger  may  do,  or  even 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  253 

Olive.  They  are  so  terribly  conscientious.  They 
will  pick  up  the  smallest  questions  with  their  con^ 
sciences  instead  of  with  their  common  sense ;  which 
seems  to  me  like  watering  a  daisy  with  a  fire-engine, 
or  weeding  a  flower-bed  with  a  plough.  Mistress 
Doi-othy  is  the  worst  of  them  (dear,  kind,  old  soul, 
I  must  now  and  then  look  at  her  sermons,  in  order 
to  make  it  quite  clear  to  myself  I  was  not  a  hypo- 
crite in  listening  to  them  all  that  time).  But  I  do 
not  think  any  of  them  are  quite  safe  in  this  way. 
And  yet  I  know,  in  my  inmost  heart,  they  are  better 
than  any  one  in  the  world,  except  my  Mother,  and 
perhaps  Harry.  (Of  His  Majesty  it  is  not  for  me 
to  speak.)  And  I  love  them  better  than  any  one  in 
the  world,  which,  I  am  afraid,  they  will  not  believe, 
now  I  am  not  allowed  to  write  to  them.  I  love 
them  for  their  noble  perverseness,  and  their  heroic 
conscientiousness,  and  their  terrible  truthfulness, 
and  everything  that  separates  us.  And  these  last 
months  at  home  have  been  the  happiest  of  my  life. 
I  felt  growing  quite  good.  And  one  thing  I  have 
resolved.  I  will  not  say  one  word  I  should  mind 
their  hearing,  so  that  when  we  meet  again  I  may 
have  nothing  to  explain  or  to  unsay.  For  it  is  only 
misunderstanding  that  will  ever  make  any  of  them 
take  the  wrong  sids ;  nothing  but  misunderstand- 
ing. And  tixcts  will  set  that  all  right  when  they 
see  how  things  really  are.  As  they  will,  I  trust, 
before  Christmas. 

"It  is  not  so  easy  to  be  good  here  as  at  Ketlier- 
by.     People  say  so  many  pretty  things  to  me.     My 
Mother  says  I  must  not  heed  them ;  they  are  only 
22 


254- 


THE  DRA  YTQNS  AND 


Court  ways  of  speaking,  which  mean  nothing  ;  and 
that  rightly  used,  I  might  even  make  them  means  of 
mortification,  saying  every  time  I  hear  such  pretty 
phrases,  as  good  Dr.  Taylor  recommended,  '  My 
beauty  is  in  colour  inferior  to  many  flowers ;  and 
even  a  dog  hath  parts  as  well  proportioned  to  the 
designs  of  his  natu.re  as  I  have ;  and  three  tits  of 
an  ague  can  change  it  into  yellowness  and  leanness, 
and  to  hollowness  and  wrinkles  of  deformity.'  But 
this  I  find  not  so  easy.  If  I  were  a  rose,  I  should 
be  pleased  at  being  a  rose,  and  at  being  thought 
sweet  and  fair.  And  even  a  well-favoured  dog, 
meseems,  has  some  harmless  delight  in  his  good 
looks.  And  as  to  the  ague,  I  see  no  likelihood  of 
it.  And  as  to  becoming  yellow  and  lean,  the  more 
I  think  of  it,  the  gladder  I  am  to  think  I  am  not. 
And  yet  there  is  some  little  flutter  in  my  pleasure 
at  these  fair  speeches  which  hardly  seems  to  me  quite 
altogether  good.  And  I  do  not  think  my  Mother 
quite  knows  what  nonsense  these  young  Cavaliers 
talk.  Perhaps  no  one  did  ever  talk  nonsense  to 
her.  Or,  if  they  did,  I  am  sure  she  never  liked  it. 
And  I  am  afraid  I  do  sometimes  a  little.  Else,  why 
should  it  all  come  back  into  my  mind  at  wrong 
times  ? — in  the  Minster  or  at  prayers.  Heigh,  ho  ! 
I  wish  I  was  at  Netherby.  No  one  ever  called  me 
fair  enchantress  there,  or  my  cheeks  Aurora's  rose- 
garden,  or  my  teeth  strings  of  pearls,  or  my  hands 
lilies,  or  my  hair  imprisoned  sunbeams,  or  my  voice 
the  music  of  the  spheres.  Sir  Launcelot  talked 
enough  of  that  kind  of  poetry  to  me,  between 
Netherby  and  Windsor,  to  make  a  book  of  ballads. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


255 


(For  my  Mother  was  in  the  sedan-chair,  whilst  I 
rode  most  of  the  way  witli  Sir  Launcelot.)  And  yet, 
I  think,  there  is  more  honour  in  Roger  Drayton's 
telling  me  in  his  straight-forward  way  he  thouglit 
me  wrong,  as  he  so  often  did,  than  in  all  SirLaunce- 
lot's  most  honeyed  compliments. 

"  Not  that  I  think  Olive  just  to  poor  Sir  Launce- 
lot. If  she  could  have  seen  his  debonair  and  court- 
eous ways  to  every  clown  and  poor  wench  we  met, 
and  how  he  flung  his  crowns  and  angels  to  any 
beggar,  she  must  have  felt  there  is  much  kindliness 
in  him,  with  all  his  wild  ways. 

"  And  when  he  saw  I  liked  not  so  many  fair 
speeches,  he  gave  them  up  in  a  measure.  I  must 
say  that  for  him ;  and  he  has  been  as  deferential  to 
me  ever  since  at  the  Court,  as  if  I  were  one  of  the 
pi-incesses.  Only  I  wish  he  would  not  always  see 
when  I  drop  my  glove  or  my  posy  :  at  least,  I  think 
I  do.  Yet  it  is  rather  pleasant,  too,  at  times  to  feel 
there  is  some  one  who  cares  about  one  among  so 
many  strange  people,  and  some  one  who  is  always 
ready  to  talk  about  jioor  old  ISTetherby,  and  who 
honours  the  Draytons,  moreover,  so  generously.  I 
wish  Olive  knew  this. 

"  And  I  wish  I  were  like  my  Mother,  and  had  '  a 
chapel  built  in  my  heart.'  Or  else  that  I  could  live 
at  Netherby. 

"  Sij-  Launcelot  admires  the  '  beauty  of  holiness ' 
in  my  Mother.  He  says,  in  all  times,  happily,  there 
have  been  these  sweet  exalted  Saints,  especially 
among  women,  bright  particular  stars,  celestial 
beauties,  and  princesses,  that  all  men  must  revere. 


256  THE  DRA  YTOXS  AND 

Quite  another  kind  of  thing,  he  says,  from  the 
Puritan  notion  of  calling  all  men  to  be  '  saints,'  or 
else  consigning  them  to  reprobation  as  among  the 
wicked. 

^'■Noie. — I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  call  this  writing  of 
mine.  It  is  scarcely  a  Diary  or  Joiirnal,  for  I  certainly 
shall  not  do  anything  as  regular  as  write  in  it  every 
day.  It  shall  not  be  *  Annals ;'  for  I  hope  to  have 
done  with  it  before  Christmas,  when  I  shall  have 
met  Olive  and  all  of  them  again  at  home.  '  Chroni 
cles '  are  more  solemn  still.  '  Thoughts  ?'  where 
shall  I  find  them  ?  '  Facts  T  how  is  one  to  know 
them,  when  people  give  such  different  accounts  of 
things  ?  '  Meditations  ?'  worse  again.  '  Religious 
Journals,'  *  Confessions,'  etc.,  always  puzzled  me. 
I  could  never  make  out  for  Avhom  they  were  written. 
Especially  the  prayers  I  have  seen  written  out  at 
length  in  them.  They  cannot  be  meant  for  other 
people  to  read.  That  would  be  turning  the  '  closet ' 
into  '  the  corners  of  the  street.'  They  cannot  be 
meant  for  the  people  themselves  to  read.  For  what 
good  could  that  do  ?  It  would  not  be  praying  to 
see  how  I  jjrayed  some  years  since.  They  cannot 
surely  be  meant  for  God  to  read.  He  is  always 
near,  and  can  hear,  or  read  our  hearts,  which  is 
quite  another  thing  from  reading  our  Diaries. 

"  May  30,  York. — The  birds  begin  to  sing  in  the 
trees  around  the  Minster.  Our  lodging  is  opposite. 
And  the  courtiers  begin  to  gather  once  more  around 
the  king.  jMany  lords  have  come  these  last  days 
from  London,  with  some  faithful  members  of  the 


THE  DA  VEN'ANTS.  257 

Commons'  House,  and  old  Lord  Littleton  has  come, 
Avith  somewhat  limping  loyalty,  they  say,  after  the 
Great  Seal,  now  in  the  right  hand.  So  that  this 
grave  old  town  begins  to  look  gay.  Cavaliers  oara- 
colling  about  the  streets,  doffing  their  hats  to  fair 
foccs  in  the  windows.  Troops  mustering  but  slow- 
ly ;  somewliat  slowly.  Nor  can  I  make  out  if  these 
townspeople  altogether  like  us  and  our  ways.  There 
are  so  many  Puritans  among  these  traders.  And 
Sir  Launcelot  says  they  have  great  sport  in  the  Pu- 
ritan household  where  he  is  quartered,  in  making 
the  Puritan  lads  learn  the  '  Distracted  Puritan,'  and 
other  roystering  Cavalier  songs,  and  drink  confu- 
sion to  the  Covenant ;  and  in  making  the  host  and 
hostess  bring  out  their  best  conserves,  linen  and 
plate,  for  the  use  of  the  men.  Sir  Launcelot  told 
them,  he  said,  that  they  should  only  look  on  it  as 
the  payment  of  an  old  debt  the  children  of  Israel 
had  owed  to  the  Egyptians  these  three  thousand 
years.  I  do  not  think  such  jokes  good  manners 
in  any  other  person's  house,  and  I  told  him  so. 
But  he  said  their  ridiculous  gravity  makes  the 
temptation  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  If  they 
would  jest  good-humouredly  in  retura,  he  said,  they 
would  soon  understand  each  other.  But  would 
they  ?  I  am  not  quite  sure  how  Sir  Launcelot  en- 
joys not  having  the  best  of  a  joke.  And  I  could 
not  bear  his  calling  the  Puritans  all  canting,  or  ridic- 
ulous, lie  knoAvs  better.  And  I  told  him  so.  I  felt 
quite  indignant,  and  the  tears  Avere  in  my  eyes  (for 
I  thought  of  them  all  at  iSTetherby).  He  seemed 
penitent.  Indeed,  I  hope  it  did  him  good. 
22* 


258  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

"  June. — The  Parliament  are  growing  more  insa 
lent  every  day ;  they  dared  to  say  in  one  of  their 
ridiculous  Remonstrances  that  '  the  king  is  for  the 
kingdom,  not  the  kingdom  for  the  king,  that 
even  the  croA\ii  jewels  are  not  His  Majesty's 
own,  but  given  him  in  trust  for  the  regal  power.' 
However,  they  will  soon  learn  their  mistake  about 
that,  for  the  crown-jewels  are  safe  in  Holland,  and 
have  thei-e  purchased  for  the  Crown  good  store  of 
arms  and  ammunition.  These  were  all  embarked 
in  a  Dutch  ship  called  the  Providence.  A  great 
Providence,  my  Mother  says,  attended  her.  For 
although  she  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  York- 
shire, nevertheless,  all  her  stores  have  this  day  been 
safely  brought  into  York. 

"  NoAV  we  shall  see  what  gentlemen  can  do  against 
tapsters,  and  tailors'  and  haberdashers'  'prentices, 
such  as  make  up  the  wretched  army  they  have  been 
mustering  in  London  !  The  citizens'  wives  actually 
brought  their  thimbles  and  bodkins,  it  is  said,  to 
pay  the  men  ;  to  such  mean  and  ludicrous  straits 
are  they  reduced.  The  Cavaliers  call  it  '  the  Thim- 
ble and  Bodkin  Army,' 

'■'■July  20. — Sir  John  Hotham  is  said  to  be  waver- 
ing back  to  loyalty.  A  day  or  two  since,  a  gallant 
little  army  of  four  thousand  men  rode  forth  hence 
through  the  Mickle  Bar,  to  demand  the  surrender 
of  that  presumptuous  city,  Hull,  and  if  refused,  to 
storm  it.  Better  they  had  listened  to  His  Majesty's 
gentle  summons  with  his  three  hundred.  How  gal- 
lant and  brave  they  looked.  Plumed  helmets 
gleaming,   swords  flashing,  jjennons  flying,  horses 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


259 


looking  as  proud  of  the  cause  as  tlie  riders.  Not  a 
cavalier  among  them  who  would  not  fac^  battle  as 
gayly  as  the  hunting-field. 

"  July  22. — Those  treacherous  townspeople  !  Xot 
a  troop  of  them  is  to  be  relied  on.  Our  gallant 
Cavaliers  came  back  in  disorder.  And  all  because 
of  the  faithless  train-bands,  and  those  turbulent  cit- 
izens of  Hull.  Lord  Lindsay,  with  three  thousand 
men,  was  at  Beverley,  and  on  the  lighting  of  a  fire 
on  Beverley  Minster,  the  gates  of  Hull  were  to  be 
opened  by  some  loyal  men  inside.  But  five  hundred 
rebels  within  the  town,  hearing  too  soon  of  the  in- 
tention of  these  loyal  men,  made  a  sortie  under  the 
command  of  Sir  John  Hotham.  The  true  Cavaliers 
would  have  stood  firm,  every  one  says,  but  the 
Yoi'kshire  train-bands  would  not  draw  sword 
against  their  neighbours,  but  ran  away  to  Beverley, 
and  so  the  whole  ended  in  disgrace  and  defeat.  If 
we  could  only  have  an  army  entirely  composed  of 
gentlemen,  and  their  sons,  and  retainers,  the  Par- 
liament could  not  stand  a  day.  But  the  worst  news 
that  has  reached  us  lately,  is  the  treachery  of  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  navy.  They  have  all 
gone  over  to  the  Parliament,  in  spite  of  the  king's 
oifering  them  better  pay  than  they  ever  received 
before.  Five  ships  stood  firm  at  first,  but  the  rest 
overpowered  them.  I  hope  no  one  ever  told  them 
about  their  being  called  '  water-rats,'  but  there  are 
always  some  malicious  people  who  delight  to  make 
mischief  by  telling  tales.  I  should  think  royal  per- 
sons ought  to  be  very  careful  about  their  jests. 
"  August. — We  are  on  the  point  of  leaving  York 


26o  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

to  spend  a  few  days  at  ISTottingham,  where  the 
king's  standard  is  to  be  set  up. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  leave  this  old  town  I  miss  the 
pleasant  walks  at  home.  For  here  one  dare  scai'ce 
venture  much  out  of  doors.  If  the  Cavaliers  are  as 
dangerous  to  their  enemies  as  they  are  sometimes  to 
their  friends,  the  Parliament  has  good  cause  to 
tremble.  The  streets  echo  dismally  at  night  with 
the  shouts  of  drunken  revelry.  But,  I  suppose,  all 
armies  ai'e  alike.  Only  it  is  rather  unfortunate  for 
us  that  gravity  and  the  show  of  piety  being  the 
badge  of  the  Puritans,  levity  and  a  reckless  dashing 
carriage  are  taken  up  as  their  badge  by  many  of 
the  young  Cavaliers. 

"  I  would  they  took  example  by  the  king.  His 
Majesty  has  been  riding  around  the  country  lately 
himself,  calling  his  lieges  to  follow  him.  And  his 
majestic  courtesy  and  grace,  with  his  loving  and 
winning  sj^eeches,  such  as  he  made  at  Newark  and 
Lincoln,  showing  his  good  intentions  and  desires 
for  their  liberty  and  welfore,  must,  I  am  sure,  be 
worth  him  a  mint  of  such  money  as  the  London  cit- 
izens can  coin  out  of  their  thimbles  and  bodkins. 

"  The  North  country  is  well  disposed,  they  say  ; 
and  Lancashire,  where  the  queen  hath  much  hold  on 
the  Catholic  gentlemen  of  ancient  lineage  there ; 
and  the  West  country,  where  brave  Sir  Bevil  Gran- 
vill  lives,  is  full  of  loyalty.  Mr.  Hampden  has 
done  mischief  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  Mr.  Crom- 
well (a  brewer.  Sir  Launcelot  says,  rather  than 
a  country-gentleman,  though  not  of  low  parent- 
age) calls  himself  captain,  and  is  disaffecting   the 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  2  6 1 

eastern  comities,  already  disloyal  enough  with  their 
French  Huguenot  weavers,  and  their  '  Anabaptists, 
Atheists,  and  Brownists,'  as  His  Majesty  calls 
them. 

"  The  towns  are  the  worst,  however.  I  suppose 
there  is  something  in  buying  and  selling,  and  tink- 
ering and  tailoring,  which  makes  people  think  more 
of  mean  money  considerations,  than  of  loyalty  and 
honour.  Then  there  are  so  many  Puritans  in  the 
town.  Perhaps  the  narrow  dark  higli  streets  make 
them  naturally  inclined  to  be  gloomy  and  strait- 
laced.  I  think,  however,  the  less  our  Cavalier  sol- 
diers are  quartered  in  the  towns,  the  better,  till  they 
mend  their  manners.  It  may  make  the  citizens  less 
pleased  than  ever  with  the  Book  of  Sports. 

^^  Nottingham,  August  23. — This  evening  the  king 
himself  set  up  his  standard  on  the  top  of  the  field  be- 
hind the  castle.  There  was  much  sounding  -of 
drums  and  trumpets.  Several  hundi-eds  gathered 
around  the  royal  party,  and  we  watched  a  little  way 
off.  But,  I  know  not  how,  the  act  did  not  seem  as 
solemn  as  the  occasion.  The  night  was  stormy ; 
and  the  trumpets  and  drums,  and  then  the  voice  of 
the  herald  reading  the  royal  proclamation,  sounded 
small  and  thin  against  the  rush  and  howling  of  the 
winds.  The  troops  have  not  yet  answered  the 
king's  call  as  they  should,  and  those  present  vrcre 
mostly  the  train-bands.  Then  His  Majesty,  on  the 
spot,  made  some  alterations  in  the  proclamation, 
which  perplexed  the  herald,  so  that  he  blundered 
and  stumbled  in  reading  it.  Altogether  I  wish  I 
had  not  been  there. 


262  THE  DRAYT0N8  AND 

"  The  king's  standard  ought  to  he  something 
more  than  a  pole  no  higher  than  a  May-pole  with 
a  few  streamers,  and  a  common  flag  at  the  top. 
And  tlie  trumpets  which  are  to  rouse  a  nation, 
ought  to  have  a  certain  magnificence  in  them,  alto- 
gether different  from  the  trumpets  they  blow  at  the 
carols  at  Netherby  at  Christmas.  I  am  sure  I  can- 
not tell  how.  But  I  always  pictured  it  so.  The 
words  are  grander  than  the  things. 

"  Perhaps  all  our  pomps  and  solemnities  look  poor 
and  mean  under  the  open  sky.  We  had  better  keep 
them  beneath  roofs  of  our  own  making.  The  pomps 
we  are  used  to  under  the  open  sky  are  the  purple 
and  crimson  and  gold  of  sunset  and  simrise,  great 
banners  of  storm-clouds  flung  across  the  sky.  And 
the  solemnities  are  the  thunders,  and  the  mighty 
winds,  and  the  rushing  of  rivers,  and  the  dashing 
of  seas. 

"The  things  are  grander,  infinitely,  than  any 
'TT'ords  wherewith  we  can  speak  of  them. 

"  But  when  I  said  so  to  my  Mother,  she  said, 
And  yet,  my  child,  one  soul,  and  even  one  human 
voice,  is  grander,  or  more  godlike  than  all  the 
thunders.  It  is  their  significance,  Lettice,  which 
gives  the  gi'andeur  to  any  solemnities  of  ours.  If 
we  heard  those  trumpets  summon  our  countrymen 
by  thousands  to  the  battle,  or  saw  that  flag  borne 
blood-stained  from  the  field,  Ave  should  not  think 
the  voice  of  the  trumpet  wanted  terrible  magnifi- 
cence, or  call  the  flag  a  common  thing  ever  more.' 

"Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  only  a  little  inward 
depression  that  made  me  feel  this  disappointment. 


THE  DA  VEN-ANTS.  263 

For  only  tliree  days  before,  Coventry  had  shut  her 
gates  in  the  king's  face,  and  the  Earl  of  Essex  is  at 
hand,  they  say,  Avitli  a  great  army,  and  so  few  flock- 
ing loyally  to  the  king. 

"  But  worst  of  all,  I  think,  is  this  Prince  Kupert. 
Ilis  mother's  name,  Elizabeth  of  Bohemia,  has  been 
like  a  sacred  name  iti  the  country  for  years  ;  a  saint 
and  a  heroine  in  courage  and  patience.  But  this 
prince  is  so  noisy  and  reckless,  and  takes  so  much 
upon  himself,  that  he  angers  the  older  gentlemen 
and  experienced  soldiers  soi-ely.  My  Father  says 
he  is  little  better  than  a  petulant  boy.  Yet  he  has 
great  weight  with  the  king,  his  uncle,  and  takes  the 
command  into  his  own  hands  ;  so  that  the  gallant 
old  Earl  of  Lindsay  deems  his  own  command  little 
better  than  nominal.  And,  meanwhile,  the  younger 
Cavaliers  take  their  colour  from  him,  and  use  that 
new  low  cant  word  of  his, '  plunder,'  quite  as  a  jest, 
as  if  it  meant  some  new  sport  or  sword-exercise, 
instead  of  meaning,  as  it  does,  scouring  all  over  the 
country,  burning  lonely  farm-houses,  robbing  the 
inmates,  and  sometimes  hanging  the  servants  at  the 
doors  for  refusing  to  betray  their  masters,  sacking 
villages,  and  I  know  not  what  other  wickednesses. 
In  the  fortnight  he  has  been  here,  he  has  flown 
through  Worcestershire,  Nottinghamshire,  War- 
wickshire, Leicestershire,  and  Cheshire.  And  not 
a  night  but  we  have  seen  the  sky  aglow  with  the 
fires  of  burning  villages  and  homesteads.  I  should 
fear  to  hear  how  the  people  along  his  line  of  march, 
coming  back  to  their  ruined  homes,  speak  of  the 
kmg. 


264  THE  DRAY  TONS  AND 

"  Moreover,  it  is  said,  the  rebel  troops  are  strictly 
forMdden  to  take  anything  without  l^aying  for  it, 
a  contrast  worth  them  much. 

'■}  August  24. — This  morning,  before  I  rose,  my 
Mother's  waiting  gentlewoman  brought  dismal 
news.  The  royal  standard,  said  she,  has  been  blown 
down  in  the  night,  and  lies  a  wreck  along  the 
hill. 

"My  Mother  says  it  is  heathenish  to  talk  of 
omens  and  auguries.  And  my  Father  says  these 
foreigners  are  the  worst  omen,  and  all  would  be 
well  enough  if  they  would  leave  Englishmen  to 
fight  out  their  own  quarrels,  like  neighbours,  Avho 
exchange  blows  and  are  friends  again,  instead  of 
like  wretched  hired  Lanzknechts  or  Free  Compan- 
ions. 

"  But  Sir  Launcelot  laughs,  and  says  it  is  a  good 
thing  to  give  the  whining  Puritans  something  to 
cry  for  at  last.  And  Harry  sighs,  and  says  he  sup- 
poses it  is  necessary  to  make  the  rebels  see  we  are 
in  earnest. 

"  Altogether,  Ave  do  not  seem  in  very  good  hu- 
mour with  each  other  just  now.  However,  a  few 
victories  will  no  doubt  set  us  all  right  again.  There 
can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the  king  will  bring 
these  rebels  to  their  senses  sooner  or  later ;  in  a  few 
months  at  latest. 

"  Only  I  had  not  understood  at  all  how  veiy 
melancholy  war  is.  I  thought  of  it  as  concerning 
no  one  but  the  soldiers.  And  men  must  incur  dan- 
ger one  way  or  another.  And  there  is  the  glory, 
and  the  excitement,  and  the  exercise  of  noble  cour- 


THE  DA  V EN  ANTS.  265 

rago,  making  such  men  as  nothing  but  such  trials 
can  make. 

"But  the  battles  seem  but  a  small  part  of  the 
misery ;  the  misery  without  glory  to  any  one. 

"  On  our  way  hither  from  York,  my  Mother  was 
faint  and  tired,  and  we  stopped  at  a  little  farm-house 
with  an  orchard.  It  was  evening,  and  the  woman 
had  just  finished  milking  the  cows  by  the  door,  and 
she  gave  my  Mother  a  cup  of  new  milk  while  she 
rested  on  the  settle  in  the  clean  little  kitchen. 
There  were  two  little  children  playing  about,  and 
the  father  was  at  work  in  the  orchard,  and  one  of 
the  children  called  him,  and  he  brought  my  Father 
a  cup  of  cider.  And  there  was  a  Bible  on  the 
table  with  wood-cuts  ;  and  I  found  the  eldest  child 
knew  the  meaning  of  them.  He  said  his  father  had 
told  him.  They  were  very  kind  and  pleasant 
to  us. 

"  And  a  few  days  since  Harry  told  me  they  had 
passed  a  little  farm  with  an  orchard,  and  the  man 
was  surly  and  a  Puritan,  and  refused  to  tell  the  way 
some  fugitives  had  fled;  and  Prince  Rupert  had 
him  hanged  on  his  own  threshold,  and  drove  off 
the  cows  for  plunder. 

"  And  from  what  Harry  says  I  feel  sure  it  is  the 
same. 

"  And  I  have  scarcely  slept  since,  thinking  of 
that  poor  man,  and  the  silent  voice  that  will  never 
any  more  explain  the  wood-cuts  in  the  old  Bible, 
and  the  poor  hands  that  will  never  sliow  tlicir  will- 
ing hospitality  again. 

"  But  it  is  only  one,  Harry  says,  among  hundreds  ; 
9.;^ 


266  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

and  such  things  must  be,  and  I  must  not  thi/ik 
of  it. 

"  But  every  one  of  the  hundreds  is  just  that  tf.rri- 
"ble  only  one,  which  leaves  the  world  all  lonely  to 
some  poor  mourner! 

"Those  gentlemen  in  Parliament  have  dcnadful 
tilings  to  answer  for, 

"  Why  did  not  Mr.  Hampden  pay  a  thuisand 
times  his  miserable  ship-money  rather  than  lead  the 
country  on  to  such  horrors  ? 

"  For  the  king  cannot  have  his  commanda  dis- 
obeyed.    If  he  did,  how  could  he  be  a  king  ? 

"  I  do  wish  he  could  be  more  a  king  with  his  ow  n 
troops ;  I  am  sure  he  hates  this  ravaging  and  ma- 
rauding. But  so  many  of  the  gentlemen  serve,  and, 
indeed,  keep  their  regiments  at  their  own  cost, 
which  makes  them  difficult  to  control. 

"  October. — Prince  Rupert  has  been  driven  from 
Worcester.  If  it  were  only  a  lesson  in  reverence 
and  modesty  for  the  prince,  it  would  not  so  much 
matter,  some  think,  that  he  left  twenty  good  and 
true  men  dead  there.  The  Earl  of  Essex  occupies 
the  city.  He  has  been  there  a  fortnight  doing 
nothing.  Some  remnants  of  loyalty,  we  think, 
hinder  him  from  coming  to  open  collision.  But 
what  the  use  of  collecting  an  army  can  be  unless  it 
is  to  fight,  it  is  hard  to  see.  The  truth  is,  perhaps, 
that  he  begins  to  feel  the  peril  of  setting  his  haber- 
dashers and  grocers'  'prentices,  commanded  by  a 
forsworn  peer,  against  gentlemen's  sons  fighting 
under  their  king !  Meantime,  our  army  is  gather- 
ing at  last,  and  only  '  oo  eager,  they  say,  to  give 


THE  DAVENANTS.  267 

the  rebels  a  lesson.  Once  for  all,  God  grant  it  be  a 
lesson  once  for  all.  Although  the  battles  do  not 
seem  to  me  half  so  dreadful  as  these  '  plunderings.' 
But  perhaps  that  is  because  I  never  came  near  a 
battle  ;  nor,  indeed,  can  the  oldest  man  in  England 
remember  any  one  that  ever  did  on  English  soil." 

OLIVE    DRATTOn's    RECOLLECTIOIfS. 

All  through  the  summer  the  armies  were  gather- 
ing. In  our  seven  eastern  counties — Essex,  Nor- 
folk, Suffolk,  Cambridgeshire,  Lincoln,  Huntingdon- 
shire, and  Hertfordshire  —  called  the  associated 
counties,  because  bound  by  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr. 
Cromwell  into  an  association  for  mutual  defence,  the 
King's  Commission  of  Array  and  the  Parliament's 
Ordinance  of  Militia  clashed  less  than  elsewhere. 
In  August  Mr.  Cromwell  seized  a  magazine  of  arms 
and  ammunition  at  Cambridge.  The  stronghold  of 
the  Puritans  was  in  these  eastern  regions ;  and  ex- 
cept where  a  few  Royalist  gentlemen,  like  the 
Davenants,  led  off  their  retainers,  the  Parliament 
had,  amongst  us,  mostly  its  own  way.  All  the 
more  reason,  my  Father  said,  for  our  men  to  risk 
their  persons,  since  our  homes  were  safer  than  else- 
where. 

My  Father,  from  his  old  military  experience,  hod 
much  to  do  with  training  and  drilling  the  men. 
Strange  sounds  of  clanging  arms  and  sharp  words 
of  command  echoed  from  the  old  court  of  the 
Manor.  Old  arms,  the  very  stories  belonging  to 
which  were  well-nigh  forgotten,  were  taken  down  ; 
arms  which  had  hunsr  on  the  walls  of  manor-house 


868  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

and  farm-house  since  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  The 
newest  weapon  Ave  had  at  Netherby  which  had 
seen  service  in  England  was  a  short  jewel-hilted 
sword  the  Drayton  of  the  day  had  worn  at  the 
Battle  of  Bosworth  Field,  fighting,  by  a  rare  piece 
of  good  luck  for  us,  under  Henry  VII.,  on  the  win- 
ning side.  Since  then  the  Reformation  had  revolution- 
ized the  Church,  and  gunpowder  had  revolutionized 
the  art  of  war ;  so  that  instead  of  the  sturdy  bow- 
men, each  provided  with  his  weapon  and  ready 
trained  to  the  use  of  it,  whom  his  ancestors  brought 
to  the  field,  my  Father  could  only  muster  a  few 
labourers  and  servants,  without  weapons  and  with- 
out training,  with  no  further  preparation  for  war 
than  hands  used  to  labour,  wits  ready  to  learn,  and 
hearts  ready  to  dare. 

My  Father  did  not  mean  to  lead  his  own  men. 
Having  had  experience  of  engineering  in  the  Ger- 
man wars,  he  was  employed  here  and  there  as  his 
directions  w^ere  needed.  Roger  and  those  who 
went  from  Netherby  served  from  the  first  with  Mr. 
Cromwell's  Ironsides ;  my  Father,  as  his  contribu- 
tion, providing  the  armour,  which,  like  that  of  Has- 
elrigge's  Lobsters,  was  complete  and  costly.  Other 
bands  passed  and  repassed  often,  and  shared  the 
hospitalities  of  the  Manor,  to  join  Lord  Brook's 
purple-coats.  Lord  Say  and  Lord  Maudeville's  blue- 
coats.  Hollis'  red-coats  were  London  men,  and  Mr. 
Hampden's  green-coats  all  from  his  own  county, 
Buckinghamshire  ;  Avhile  the  badge  of  all  was  the 
orange  scarf  round  tlie  arm — the  family  colours  of 
Lord  Essex,  the  general.     Each  regiment  had  its 


THE  DAVENANT8.  269 

own  motto — Hampden's,  "  Vestigia  nulla  relrorsum;^^ 
Essex's  (pointing  many  a  cavalier  jest,  if  seen  in 
plunder  or  retreat),  "  Cave  adsum.''''  On  the  reverse 
of  each  banner  was  the  common  motto  of  all,  "  God 
with  us" — the  watch-word  of  so  many  a  battle. 

Money  was  not  stinted ;  the  city  of  London  head- 
ing the  contributions  in  January  with  £50,000,  and 
the  Merchants'  Companies  with  nigh  as  large  a  sum 
(then  intended  to  avenge  the  Irish  massacre) ;  whilst 
Mr.  Hampden  gave  £1000,  and  his  cousin,  Mr. 
Cromwell,  £500. 

Women  brought  their  rings  and  jewels ;  cherish- 
ed old  family  plate  was  not  held  back.  We  in  our 
sober  Puritan  household  had  few  jewels  to  bring, 
but  such  as  we  had  were  disinterred  from  their 
caskets,  and  the  few  silver  drinking-cups  which  dis- 
tinguished our  table  from  any  farmers  round  were 
packed  up  by  Aunt  Dorothy's  own  hands,  and  des- 
patched to  the  London  Guildhall,  not  without  sighs, 
but  without  hesitation,  with  all  the  money  that 
could  be  spared. 

Cousin  Placidia  also  offered  what  she  called  her 
"  mite, "  when  she  heard  that  the  poor  citizens' 
wives  in  London  had  even  offered  their  thimbles 
and  bodkins. 

"  I  am  but  a  poor  parson's  wife,"  said  she,  "  but 
I  am  thankful  they  will  receive  even  such  poor  of- 
ferings as  I  can  bring." 

And  she  brought  those  embroidered  Cordova 
gloves,  the  search  for  which  had  so  incensed  Aunt 
Porothy. 

"  It  is  remarkable,"  she  observed,  "  that  I  always 
23* 


2/0 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


said  one  never  knew  what  use  anything  might  be 
in  a  poor  parson's  household ;  and  now  I  have 
found  the  use." 

"  What  use,  ray  dear,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  do 
yoii  think  the  Parliament  soldiers  will  fight  in  em- 
broidered gloves?" 

"  Spanish  leather  is  dear,"  replied  Placidia,  "  and 
things  will  always  sell.  It  is  only  a  poor  mite  I 
know,  but  so  is  a  thimble.  The  Parliament  soldiers 
cannot,  of  course,  fight  in  thimbles  any  more  than 
in  gloves,  and  the  widow's  mite  was  accepted." 

"  A  mite  and  the  '  widow's  mite,'  are  some  way 
aj^art,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  your  '  widow's 
mite,'  I  suppose,  might  be  the  parsonage  and  the 
glebe,  and  those  cows  in  your  uncle's  park  and 
meadow.  Take  care  what  you  offer  to  the  Lord. 
He  sometimes  takes  us  at  our  word.  And  there  are 
plunderers  abroad  who  take  their  own  estimate  of 
people's  mites,  widows'  and  others." 
-    Said  Placidia,  never  taken  aback — 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,  Mr.  NichoUs  and  I  regard  the 
glebe  as  a  sacred  trust,  of  which  we  feel  we  must 
on  no  account  relinquish  the  smallest  fraction.  And 
as  to  the  cows  Uncle  Drayton  gave  me,  I  wonder 
you  can  suspect  me  of  such  ingratitude  as  to  give 
them  up  to  any  one." 

"  I  did  not,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  qui- 
etly. "  What  shall  I  label  your  Cordova  gloves  ? 
A  parson's  mite  ?  You  know  I  cannot  exactly  say 
'  widow's.' " 

"  An  orphan's  perhaps.  Aunt  Dorothy." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  I 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


271 


.should  tliink  that  would  affect  the  Parliament  very- 
much.     It  may  even  get  into  history." 

With  which  this  little  passage  at  arms  closed. 

Happily  for  the  popular  cause,  the  common  in- 
terpretation of  acceptable  '  mites'  differed  from  Pla- 
cidia's,  so  that  in  a  short  time  a  considerable  army 
was  levied. 

The  navy  ever  remained  true  to  the  Parliament ; 
irritated,  some  foolish  persons  said,  by  a  report  that 
the  king  had  called  them  "  water-rats."  As  well 
say  the  whole  Parliament  stood  firm,  because  the 
king  once  compared  them  to  cats.  The  navy  had 
its  own  watchwords,  better  pointed  than  by  the 
sting  of  a  sorry  jest.  English  seamen  were  not 
likely  to  trust  too  implicitly  to  the  promises  of  the 
Sovereign  who  had  tried  to  sell  them  to  aid  in  the 
destruction  of  the  brave  little  band  of  beleaguered 
Protestants  at  Rochelle. 

AU  through  the  summer  the  annies  were  being 
levied,  and  the  breach  was  silently  widening. 

In  July  an  incident  showed,  my  Father  said,  as 
much  as  anything  could,  how  entirely  the  king's 
mind  was  unchanged,  and  how  "  thorough"  would 
have  been  the  tyranny  established  in  his  hands, 
though  Laud,  and  Strafford,  and  the  Queen,  and 
every  violent  councillor,  had  been  removed.  My 
old  friend,  Dr.  Bastwick,  the  physician,  was  seized 
by  the  royal  forces  at  Worcester  while  engaged  in 
levying  men  for  the  Parliament,  under  Earl  Stam- 
ford, who  retreated.  It  was  ^^'\t\\  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty that  one  of  the  judges  restrained  the  king 
from  having   him  hanged  on  the  spi"-%  although 


272 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


there  could  be  no  reason  why  he  should  have  been 
sentenced  with  this  exceptional  severity  except 
the  fact  that  he  had  already  been  scourged,  pillo- 
ried, and  maimed  by  the  cruelty  of  the  Star-Cham- 
ber. 

The  deep  distrust  which  such  indications  of  the 
king's  true  mind  produced,  cost  him  more  than 
many  lost  battles. 

They  tended  to  inspire  such  resistances  as  that 
made  a  few  weeks  afterwards  by  the  brave  com- 
moners of  Coventry,  when,  without  garrison,  with- 
out engineers,  with  no  defence  but  their  feeble  an- 
cient walls,  they  shut  their  gates  in  the  Sovereign's 
face,  defied  the  royal  forces,  and  when  the  breach 
was  made  by  artillery  in  the  old  tottering  walls, 
barricaded  the  streets  w  ith  barrows  and  carts,  made 
a  sally,  carried  the  nearest  lines,  seized  the  guns, 
and  turned  them  against  the  besiegers,  compelling 
them  at  last  to  retire  baffled. 

But  it  was  Prince  Rupert,  "  the  Prince  Robber," 
who,  perhaps,  more  than  any,  turned  the  hearts  of 
the  people  against  the  Sovereign  who  could  use 
such  an  instrument.  Trained  in  the  cruel  school 
of  the  Palatinate  wars,  he  had  read  its  terrible  les- 
sons the  wrong  way ;  having  learned  from  the  suf- 
ferings of  his  father's  subjects  not  pity,  but  a  sav- 
age recklessness  of  suffering.  He  brought  home  to 
hundreds  of  burning  villages  and  plundered  lonely 
farms,  which  no  Parliamentary  remonstrances  or 
declarations  would  have  reached,  the  conviction 
that  the  king  looked  on  his  people,  not  as  a  flock, 
but  as  mere  live-stock  on  an  estate,  to  be  kept  up  if 


THE  DA  VENAN'TS, 


273 


profitable  and  manageable,  and  if  not  to  be  sacri- 
ficed to  any  system  of  management  which  gave  less 
trouble  and  brought  in  more  profit, 

*'  Whose  otvn  the  sheep  are  not^''  was  written  in  the 
ashes  of  every  home  ruined  by  Prince  Rupert  in  the 
king's  service. 

With  these  deeds  the  people  contrasted  the  well- 
kept  orders  of  the  Parliament  to  Lord  Essex. 
"  You  shall  carefully  restrain  all  impieties,  profane- 
ness,  and  disorders,  violence,  insolence,  and  plun- 
dering iu  your  soldiers,  as  well  by  strict  and  severe 
punisliment  of  such  ofiences  as  by  ail  others  means 
which  you  in  your  wisdom  shall  thmk  fit." 

And  we  grew  to  think  that  whoever  the  true 
shepherd  and  king  of  the  people  might  be,  it  was 
scarcely  one  who  employed  the  wolf  for  a  sheep- 
dog. 

It  was  but  slowly  and  reluctantly  that  this  con- 
viction grew  on  the  nation.  Those  who  look  back 
on  the  king's  life,  hallowed  by  the  shadow  of  liis 
death,  little  know  how  slowly  and  reluctantly.  We 
would  fain  have  trusted  him  if  he  would  have  let 
us.  The  nation  tiied  it  again  and  again,  and  only 
too  much  was  sacrificed  before  they  would  believe 
it  was  in  vain.  Still  there  had  been  no  battle. 
The  Earl  of  Essex,  after  following  the  Prince  from 
Worcester,  lingered  there  three  weeks,  doing  noth- 
ing No  battle  worth  the  name  for  nearly  a  hun- 
dred and  seventy  years,  until  Sunday  the  23d  of 
October,  1G42. 

Then  came  the  first  great  shock.  All  that  Sun- 
day afternoon  our  countrymen,  h'jsbands,  brothers, 


274  ^^^  ^^^^  YTONS  AND 

fathers,  sons  of  the  women  left  in  the  quiet  villages 
at  home,  were  fi'ghting  in  the  desperate  struggle  for 
life  and  death,  until  at  night  four  thousand  English- 
men lay  dead  on  the  slopes  of  Edgehill,  or  dying  in 
the  villages  around — the  day  before  as  tranquil  and 
peaceful  as  ours. 

I  remember  there  was  a  peculiar  quiet  about  that 
Sunday  at  Netherby,  So  many  of  the  men  of  the 
village  had  gone  to  the  war.  Roger  had  been  away 
many  weeks,  and  my  Father  had  left  some  days  be- 
fore to  join  Lord  Essex  at  "Worcester.  In  all  our 
household  there  were  no  men  left  except  Bob  the 
herdsman.  The  church  was  strangely  deserted. 
Ths  Hall  pew  empty.  Scarcely  one  deep  manly 
voice  in  response  or  psalm.  On  the  benches  in  the 
village  a  few  old  men  had  an  unwonted  monopoly 
of  talk,  and  the  lads  on  anything  like  the  verge 
of  manhood  strode  heavily  about  with  a  new  sense 
of  importance.  One  asked  another  for  news.  But 
there  was  none,  save  mmours  of  mysterious  march- 
ings and  counter-marchings  of  troops,  without  any 
aim  that  we  knew,  or  the  echo  of  some  far-off  foray 
of  Prince  Kupert's.  Thei-e  was  a  dreamy  stillness 
all  around.  Tib's  voice  came  up  alone  from  the 
kitchen  as  she  moved  about  some  Sabbath  work  of 
necessity,  and  sung  rather  uncertainly  snatches  of 
the  psalm  we  had  sung  at  prayers  in  the  morning. 
From  the  slope  where  the  house  stood  (which  gave 
us  that  wide  range  over  the  levels  which  I  miss 
everywhere  else),  I  saw  the  cattle  feeding  far  off  in 
the  marshy  lands,  too  far  for  any  sound  of  their 
voices  to  reach  me.     The  harvest  was  over  on  the 


THE  DA  VENAKTS. 


275 


nearer  slopes,  so  that  there  was  no  music  of  the 
wind  rustling  through  the  corn.  The  land  lay  half 
slumbering  in  its  autumn  rest,  like  Roger's  faithful 
Lion  in  his  Sunday  afternoon  sleep  on  the  terrace 
below.  But,  I  knew  not  why,  there  seemed  to  me 
a  kind  of  expectancy  in  this  calm.  A  waiting  and 
listening  seemed  to  palpitate  through  this  stillness 
of  the  land  such  as  pervaded  Lion's  slumbers  as  he 
couched,  quivering  at  every  sound,  vainly  waiting 
for  Roger's  voice  to  summon  him  as  usual  at  this 
hour  for  a  walk  in  the  fields. 

The  feeling  grew  on  me,  till  all  this  quiet  seemed 
not  as  the  rest  after  a  calm,  but  the  calm  before  a 
storm ;  and  the  silence  excited  in  me  as  if  it  were 
the  breathless  hush  of  thousands  of  beating  hearts. 

Then  I  thought  of  Rachel  Forster  in  her  lonely 
home.  And  it  was  a  relief  to  rise  at  once  and  go  to 
her.  Her  door  was  open.  She  was  sitting  before 
the  old  Bible.  It  was  open,  but  she  was  not  read- 
ing. Her  hands  were  clasped  on  her  knees.  There 
was  a  stillness  on  her  face  <is  great  as  that  over  the 
country.  But  in  this  calm  there  was  something 
that  calmed  me. 

It  seemed  to  me  conscious  an.l  victorious,  not 
dreamlike,  and  liable  at  any  momei.t  to  a  terrible 
waking. 

I  told  her  the  restlessness  I  had  been  feeling. 

"  Can  we  wonder,  Mistress  Olive  ?"  said  she. 
*'  Do  we  not  know  what  we  might  be  giving  them 
up  for  ?  " 

"  This  quietness  of  the  world  seems  awful  to  me 
to-day,  Rachel,"  said  I,  "  but  in  you  there  is  some- 


276  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

thing  that  quiets  me.     You  find  peace  in  prayer 
Rachel,"  said  I.     "  Is  it  not  that  ?  " 

"  I  scarce  know  whether  it  is  prayer,  Mistress 
Olive.  It  is  nothing  but  going  to  the  Rock  that  ie 
higher  than  I,  and  taking  all  that  is  precious  to  me 
there,  and  staying  there.  It  is  just  creeping  to  the 
foot  of  the  Cross,  and  keeping  there." 

"  You  feel,  then,  as  if  something  terrible  were 
coming,  Rachel,"  I  said. 

"  I  know  something  terrible  must  come,"  she  said, 
with  a  tremulousness  in  her  voice  which  was  more 
from  enthusiasm  than  from  fear.  "  To-day,  or  to- 
morrow, or  some  day.  For  the  Day  of  Vengeance 
is  come ;  and  the  year  of  His  redeemed  is  at 
hand." 

"  Oh,  Rachel,"  I  said,  "  I  cannot  silently  rest  as 
you  do.  I  want  words,  entreaties  for  Roger,  for 
my  Father,  for  Job,  and  also  foi-  the  good  men  who, 
if  the  battle  comes,  must  die  on  the  wrong  side, 
and  for  the  king ;  the  king  who,  if  he  would  but  be 
true,  might  set  all  right  again." 

And  she  knelt  down  and  prayed  in  words  brief 
and  burning,  like  the  prayers  in  the  Bible. 

"  You  do  not  feel  it  too  lonely  here,  Racliel  ?  "  I 
said  as  I  left,  "  Why  not  come  up  to  us  ?  Your 
presence  Avould  be  like  a  strong  wall  and  fortress 
to  me." 

"  I  am  less  lonesome  here.  Mistress  Olive,"  said 
she.  "  Job  made  so  many  little  plans  to  spare  me 
trouble  before  he  went.  I  see  his  hand  everywhere. 
There  is  the  pile  of  wood  close  to  the  fire,  and  the 
little  pipe  carrying  the  water  to  the  very  door.     It 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  fjj- 

•VTOuld  seem  like  making  light  of  his  work  not  to  use 
it  all.  And  besides,"  she  added,  "  there's  a  few  poor 
tried  folk  who  used  to  look  to  Job  for  a  good  word 
and  a  good  turn,  and  now  some  of  them  look  to  me. 
And  I  could  not  fail  them  for  the  world." 

As  I  wished  her  good-bye,  and  walked  home  and 
thought  of  her,  a  glorious  new  sense  came  on  me  ol 
the  strength  there  is  in  waiting  on  God,  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  the  feeblest  who  lean  on  him  being  not 
only  sustained,  but  becoming  themselves  strong  to 
sustain  others. 

When  I  went  to  see  Rachel,  the  whole  solid  world 
had  seemed  to  me,  in  my  anxiety  for  the  precious 
lives  I  could  do  nothing  to  preserve,  but  as  some 
treacherous  and  quaking  ground  among  our  marsh- 
es, ready  to  sink  down  and  overwhelm  us,  beneath 
the  weight  of  our  passing  footsteps. 

As  I  returjied,  the  world,  though  in  itself  as  tran- 
sitory and  uncertain  as  ever,  was  once  more  a  solid 
pathway  to  me,  because  underneath  it  stood  the 
foundation  of  an  Almighty  love,  one  word  from 
whom  was  stronger  and  more  enduiing  than  all  the 
world^. 

So  we  sang  our  evening  psalm,  and  slept  quietly 
that  night  at  Netherby,  knowing  nothing  of  the  four 
thousand  pale  and  rigid  corpses  that  lay  stretched 
on  the  blood-stained  battle-slopes  at  Edgehill,  while 
Lord  Essex  encamped  on  the  silent  battle-field,  and 
the  king's  watch-fires  were  kindled  on  the  hill  above, 
where  he  began  the  day,  and  no  ground  was  gained 
on  either  side  ;  only  the  lives  of  four  thousand  men 
lost. 

24 


2/8 


THE  BRA  YT0N8,  ETC. 


If  we  may  say  "  lost  "  of  any  life  yielded  up  to 
duty,  and  called  back  to  God  ! 

In  the  tongues  of  men,  we  speak  of  lives  lost 
on  battle-fields :  perhaps  in  the  tongue  of  angels 
they  Fpeak  of  lives  lost  in  easy  and  luxurious 
homes. 


Chapter  VIII. 


oliye's   kecollections. 


T  was  not  till  mid-day  on  Monday  the 
24tli  of  October  1642,  that  the  first 
tidings  reached  us  of  Keinton  Fight,  or, 
as  some  call  it,  the  Battle  of  Edgehill. 
Tidings  indeed  they  scarcely  were,  only  rumours, 
as  of  far-off  thunder  faintly  moaning  through  the 
heat  and  stillness  of  a  summer's  noon,  mysterious, 
uncertain,  scarcely  louder  than  the  hum  of  insects 
in  the  sunshine,  yet  almost  more  awful  than  the 
crash  of  the  thunder-peal  overhead.  "  Wars  and 
rumours  of  wars."  Until  that  Monday  I  had  no 
conception  of  the  significance  of  that  word  "  ru- 
mours." I  had  anticipated  the  sudden  shocks,  the 
ruthless  desolations  of  war  ;  I  had  not  thought  of  its 
terrible  uncertainties,  its  heart-sickening  suspenses. 
At  noon,  when  the  few  men  left  in  the  village 
were  all  away  in  the  fields  at  work,  a  travelling 
tinker  passed  by  who  that  morning  about  daybreak 
had  done  some  work  at  a  farm  where  the  swineherd 

(279) 


2  8o  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

keeping  his  swine  the  evening  before,  on  the  edge 
of  a  beech-forest  some  miles  to  the  south,  had  heard 
the  sounds  far  off  in  the  south-west,  in  the  direction 
of  Oxford,  like  the  thunder  of  great  guns,  and  the 
sharp  cracking  of  musketry. 

The  tinker  did  wliat  tinkering  was  needed  in  the 
vilhige,  in  tlie  absence  of  Job  the  village  smith, 
and  went  on  his  way.  Just  after  he  left,  Aunt 
Gretel  and  I  went  to  take  broken  meat  and  broth 
to  two  or  three  sick  and  aged  people,  and  we  found 
all  the  women  gathered  around  the  black  and  silent 
forge,  or  rather  around  Rachel,  while  she  sat  quietly 
patching  in  the  porch  of  the  cottage  ;  the  latticed, 
narrow  cottage-windows  letting  in  too  little  light 
for  any  work  that  required  to  be  neatly  done. 

An  eager  excited  crowd  it  was,  the  scanty  mea- 
sure of  the  text  only  furnishing  wider  margin  for 
the  commentary.  Rachel,  meanwhile,  sat  quietly 
in  the  middle,  like  a  mother  among  a  number  of 
eager  chattering  children. 

As  we  reached  the  group,  poor  Margery,  Dickon's 
young  wife,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  half- 
sobbed, — 

"  I  wonder,  Rachel,  thee  can  bear  to  go  on  stitch, 
stitch.  Since  the  news  came  I  have  been  all  of  a 
tremble  thinking  of  my  goodman,  who  went  off 
with  yourn.  I  couldn't  bring  ray  fingers  together 
to  hold  a  needle,  do  what  T  would." 

"  I  don't  kuow  that  I  could  well  bear  it  without 
the  stitching,  neighbour,"  said  Rachel,  softly. 
"  When  trouble  is  come,  we  may  well  sit  still  and 
weep      The  Lord  calls  us  to  it.     But  in  the  Avaiting- 


THE  DAVENANTS.  aSl 

times  I  see  nought  for  it  but  to  brace  up  the  heart 
and  work." 

When  we  came,  all  turned  to  tell  us  of  the  dread 
rumour.  Aunt  Gretel  brought  one  or  two  cheering 
stories  of  providence  and  deliverance  out  of  the 
eventful  histories  of  her  youth  ;  and  then  we  went 
on  ovir  errands,  Aunt  Gretel  thinking  we  should  do 
more  to  soothe  and  quiet  these  agitated  hearts  by 
the  example  of  steadily  pursuing  our  task,  than  by 
the  wisest  talking  in  the  world. 

"  For,"  said  she,  "  the  true  tidings  have  yet  to 
come ;  and  they  are  like  to  be  sad  enough  to  some. 
And  how  will  they  bear  it,  if  all  the  strength  is 
wasted  before-hand  in  vain  and  mournful  guesses  ?'•* 

The  result  proved  her  right,  for  when  our  baskets 
were  emptied,  and  Aunt  Gretel  returned  home,  while 
I  went  to  see  Rachel  again,  the  village  was  stirring 
as  usual  with  quiet  sounds  of  labour  in  house  after 
house,  and  the  excited  group  around  the  porch  had 
dispersed.  Only  poor  Margery  lingered,  Rachel 
having  found  her  occupation  in  lighting  the  fire  and 
preparing  supper,  to  save  her  returning  to  her  lonely 
cottage  ;  Avhile  the  .baby  crowed  and  kicked  on  the 
ground  at  Rachel's  feet. 

"  But,  Rachel,"  I  said,  "  would  it  not  have  quieted 
the  neighbours  to  pray  together,  you  with  them  ?" 

"  Maybe,  sweetheart,"  she  said,  "  But  I  did  not 
feel  I  could.  If  the  news  is  true,  the  fight  is  over. 
It's  over  hours  since.  The  dead  are  lying  cold,  out 
of  the  reach  of  our  prayers.  And  the  living  are 
saved  and  arc  giving  thanks;  and  the  wounded  are 

writhing  in  their  anguishj  and  we  know  not  wliQ 

24=P 


282  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

is  dead,  or  wounded,  or  whole.  And  wTien  we 
look  to  the  earth  to  think,  it  comes  over  us  like  a 
rush  of  dark  waters  when  the  dykes  are  pierced.  So 
I  can  but  look  to  heaven  and  work.  It's  light  and 
not  dark  where  He  sittetli.  And  beyond  the  thun- 
ders and  the  lightnings  He  is  caring  for  us  in  the 
great  calm  of  the  upper  sky.  Caring  for  us,  sweet- 
heart, as  the  i)Oor  mother  cares  for  this  babe ;  not 
sitting  on  a  throne  and  smiling  like  the  king  in  the 
picture,  Avith  both  hands  full  of  his  sceptre  and  his 
bauble  ;  but  with  both  hands  free,  to  help  and  to 
uphold.  So  I  try  to  do  the  bit  of  work  He  sets  me, 
and  to  look  up  to  Him  and  feel,  '  There  is  no  fear 
but  that  Thou  Avilt  do  the  work  Thou  hast  set 
Thyself;  and  that  is,  to  care  for  us  all.'  And  I  told 
the  neighboui-s  they  had  best  try  the  same." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  lips,  when  a 
horseman  came  clattering  down  the  village  and 
stopped  at  Job's  well-known  forge. 

"  What  news  ?  asked  a  score  of  voices  one  after 
another,  as  the  women  crowded  round  him. 

"  Dismal  news  enough  for  some,  and  glorious  for 
others,"  he  said,  "The  king's  army  and  Lord 
Essex's  met  yesterday.  Lord  Essex  below  in  the 
Vale  of  the  Red  Horse,  and  the  king  on  Edgehill 
above.  Prince  Rupert  charged  down  on  the  Par- 
liament horse,  under  Commissary-General  Ramsay, 
broke  them  in  a  trice,  and  pursued  them  to  Keinton, 
killing  and  jjlundering.  I  heard  it  from  one  of  the 
routed  horsemen  who  escaped.  Everything  is  lost, 
he  said,  for  Loi'd  Essex,  and  I  hasten  to  carry  the 
news  to  one  who  loves  the  king." 


THE  DA  VEX  A  NTS. 


283 


Hastily  draining  Rachel's  can  of  home-brewed  ale, 
he  was  off  in  a  minute,  and  out  of  sight. 

All  through  the  afternoon  confused  and  contra- 
dictory news  continued  to  drop  in  from  one  and 
another.  But  it  was  not  till  the  next  day  (Tuesday) 
that  we  could  collect  anything  like  a  true  account 
of  the  battle, — how  for  hours,  all  through  the  noon- 
tide of  that  autumn  Sunday,  the  two  ai-mies  had 
couched,  like  two  terrible  beasts  of  prey,  watching 
each  other ;  the  king  on  the  height,  and  Essex  in 
the  plain — as  if  loth  to  break  with  the  murderous 
roar  of  cannon  our  England's  two  centuries  of 
peace. 

Prayers,  no  doubt,  there  were,  many  and  deep, 
breaking  that  silence,  to  the  ear  of  God  ;  but  few, 
perhaps,  better  than  that  of  gallant  Sir  Jacob 
Ashley,  one  of  the  king's  major-generals:  "Lord, 
Thou  knowest  I  must  be  busy  this  day ;  if  I  forget 
Thee,  do  not  Thou  forget  me." 

Who  began  the  fight  at  last,  we  could  not  well 
make  out.  The  most  part  said  Lord  Essex,  direct- 
ing a  sally  up  the  hill,  which  Prince  Rupert  an- 
swered by  dashing  down  like  a  torrent,  from  the 
royal  vantage-ground  to  the  j)lain,  on  the  left  wing 
of  the  Parliament  army.  The  men  fell  or  fled  on 
all  sides  before  his  furious  charge  ;  and  he  pursued 
them  to  the  village  of  Keinton,  where  Lord  Essex 
had  encamped  the  day  before.  Deeming  the  day 
won,  his  men  gave  themselves  up  to  plundering  the 
baggage,  and  slaughtering  the  wagoners  and  un- 
armed labourers.  But  meantime  Sir  William  Bal- 
four,  on  the  rigl:t  wing,  charged  the   king's  left, 


284 


THE  DHA  YTONS  AND 


broke  it,  seized  and  spiked  many  of  the  king's  guns, 
took  the  royal  standard  after  a  struggle  which  left 
sixty  brave  men  dead  in  sixty  yards  around  it,  and 
drove  nearly  the  whole  royal  army  to  their  morning's 
position  up  the  hill.  There  they  rallied.  Prince 
Rupert  returned,  laden  with  his  blood-stained  plun- 
der, to  find  the  king's  army  in  confusion.  But 
darkness  was  setting  in ;  it  is  said  the  Parliament 
gun-powder  began  to  fail ;  so  no  further  pursuit 
was  made,  and  on  Sunday  night  again  both  armies 
encamped  on  the  ground  where  they  liad  begun  the 
battle.  The  king's  camp-fires  blazed  on  the  hill, 
and  the  Parliament's  in  the  Vale  of  the  Red  Horse. 
But  between  them  lay  four  thousand  dead  English- 
men,— that  Sabbath  morning  full  of  life  and  courage, 
now  lying  stiff  and  helpless  on  the  quiet  slopes 
where  they  had  fallen  in  the  tumult  of  the  mortal 
conflict. 

It  is  said,  most  of  those  who  fell  on  the  king's 
side  fell  standing  firm,  and  of  ours  running  away  * 
which  means,  I  suppose,  that  they  lost  their  bravest, 
and  we  our  cowards. 

I  found  my  Father,  and  many  of  the  soldiers  1 
know,  always  loth  to  speak  much  of  the  battle-field 
after  a  battle.  My  Father  and  Roger  would  dis- 
cuss by  the  hour  the  handling  of  troops  and  the 
strategy  of  the  commanders,  and  all  which  related 
to  war  as  an  art  or  a  science,  and  regarded  the 
troops  as  pieces  on  a  board.  But  of  the  after- 
misery,  when  the  terrible  excitement  and  the  skillful 
manoeuvres  of  the  day  were  over,  and  the  troops 
and  regiments  had  again  become  only  men,  wounded, 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  285 

"weary,  dead,  I  never  heard  them  to  speak  save  in  a 
few  broken  words. 

The  difference  of  language  served  a  little  to  veil 
the  common  humanity  in  the  German  wars,  my 
Father  said ;  but  to  hear  the  fallen  entreating  for 
quarter,  or  the  dying  calling  on  God  and  on  dear 
familiar  names,  or  the  wounded  praying  for  help 
which,  in  the  rush  of  the  battle,  could  not  be  given, 
in  the  old  mothex'-tongue,  was  enough,  he  said,  to 
take  all  the  pomp  and  glory  out  of  war,  and  to  leave 
it  nothing  but  its  agony  and  its  horror. 

Both  sides  claimed  the  victory, — Lord  Essex  by 
right  of  encamping  on  the  field,  and  the  king  (some 
said)  by  the  weight  of  Prince  Rupert's  plunder. 

However  that  mi^ht  be,  neither  side  pursued  th« 
advantage  they  both  boasted  to  have  gained. 

The  king,  who  was  between  the  Parliament  army 
and  London,  to  the  great  anxiety  of  the  city,  did 
not  advance,  but  retired  on  Oxford, — the  Parlia- 
ment garrison  of  Banbury,  however,  surrendering 
to  him  without  a  struggle. 

Lord  Essex  made  no  pursuit,  but  withdrawing  to 
London,  left  the  country  open  to  Prince  Rupert's 
foragers. 

But  victory  or  defeat  were  scarcely  the  chief 
questions  to  us  women  that  day  at  Netherby. 

Margery's  anxieties  were  the  first  relieved.  Her 
husband  Dickon  being  in  the  king's  army,  sent  her 
an  orange  scarf  taken  from  a  Parliament  horseman 
at  Keinton,  in  token  of  his  safety. 

Then,  on  Wednesday,  poor  Tim,  Gammer  Grin- 
die's  half-witted  grandson,  who  would,  in  spite  of 


286  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

all  that  could  be  said,  follo-vr  Roger  to  the  -vvai, 
came  limping  into  the  village,  emaciated  and  foot- 
sore, with  his  arm  bound  up  in  a  sling.  He  stopped 
at  Rachel  Forster's  door,  and  began  stammering  a 
confused  account  of  Master  Roger  and  Job  lying 
wounded  at  Keinton,  and  the  prince's  men  murder- 
ing some  of  the  wounded,  and  earring  off  Roger  and 
Job,  pinioned,  in  a  cart  to  gaol,  and  Tim's  trying  to 
follow  on  foot,  and  having  his  arm  broken  by  a 
musket-shot,  and  his  leg  wounded,  and  so,  being 
left  behind,  having  limped  home  to  tell  Mistress 
Olive. 

But  where  the  gaol  was,  or  how  severe  Roger's 
wound  was,  or  Job's,  could  in  no  way  be  extracted 
from  poor  Tim's  confused  brain  and  tongue  !  "  Poor 
Tim !"  he  said,  apologising  with  broken  words,  as  a 
faithful  dog  might  with  wistful  looks,  for  having 
escaped  without  his  master,  "  Poor  Tim  tried  hard 
to  follow  Master  Roger — tried  hard  !  Master  Roger 
knows  Tim  did  not  wish  to  leave  him;  Master 
Rogert  knows.  Master  Roger  said,  '  Tim,  you've 
done  all  you  could.  Go  home.  And  tell  them  Mas- 
ter Roger's  all  right.'  "  When  first  he  saw  Rachel, 
he  said,  "  Poor  Job  said,  '  Take  care  !'  "  And  then 
clenching  his  hand,  with  a  smile,  "  Poor  Tim  took 
care  !"  But  he  never  repeated  or  explained  it.  It 
was  quite  useless  to  question  him.  That  one  pur- 
pose of  obeying  Roger  possessed  the  whole  of  his 
poor  brain.  The  poor  creature  was  faint  from  pain 
and  weariness,  and  loss  of  blood.  Rachel  would 
have  made  him  a  bed  i:i  the  cottage,  and  not  one 
of  us  It  Netherby  but  w^ould  have  counted  it  an 


THE  LA  VENANTS.  287 

honour  to  Iiave  nursed  him  for  his  love  to  Roger; 
but  he  shook  his  head  :  '  Master  Roger  said,  '  Tim, 
you've  done  all  you  could.  Go  home."  And  noth- 
ing would  satisfy  him  but  to  go  on  to  the  hove) 
by  the  Mere,  were  his  grandmother  lived. 

Gammer  Grindle  was  a  poor,  wizened,  old  woman, 
soured  by  much  trouble  and  by  the  constant  fretting 
of  a  sharp  temper  against  poverty  and  wrong,  iintil 
few  in  the  village  liked  to  venture  near  her.  Indeed, 
there  were  dark  suspicious  afloat  about  her.  Many 
a  labouring-man  would  have  gone  a  mile  round 
rather  than  pass  her  door  after  dusk,  and  many  a 
yeoman-farmer  and  goodwife  who  had  lost  an  un- 
usual number  of  sheep  or  poultry  would  propitiate 
her  by  the  present  of  a  lamb  or  a  fat  pullet.  And, 
in  general,  in  the  neighbourhood  she  was  spoken  of 
with  a  reverent  terror  much  akin  to  that  of  the  man 
who,  after  hastily  using  the  name  of  the  devil,  cros- 
sed himself,  and  said,  "  May  he  pardon  me  for  tak- 
ing his  holy  name  in  vain." 

But  Roger  and  I  happened  to  have  come  across 
her  on  another  and  very  different  side.  In  our  fish- 
ing expeditions  on  the  Mere  her  grandson  Tim  had 
often  followed  us  with  the  fish-basket  or  tackle ; 
and  the  rare  contrast  of  Roger's  kindly  tones  and 
words  with  the  jeerings  of  the  rough  boys  in  the 
village,  had  won  him  in  Tim's  heart  an  affection 
intense,  absorbing,  disinterested,  and  entirely  free 
from  demand  of  return  or  hope  of  reward  ;  more 
like  that  of  a  faithful  dog  than  of  a  human  being 
with  purposes  and  interests  of  his  ov/n. 

This  had  given  us  access  to  his  grandmother's 


288  THE  DRA  YTONS  A  NB 

hovel,  aiiJ  many  a  time  she  had  saved  me  from  the 
consequences  of  Aunt  Dorothy's  just  wrath  by  kind- 
ling up  her  poor  embers  of  fire  to  dry  my  soaked 
shoes,  and  cleaning  the  mud  from  my  clothes.  Sim- 
ple easy  services,  but  such  as  made  it  altogether  im- 
possible for  Roger  and  me  to  regard  the  poor,  kind, 
shrivelled  hands  that  had  rendered  them  as  having 
signed  a  compact  with  Satan.  Besides,  did  we  not 
see  how  good  she  was,  with  all  her  scoldings,  to 
Tim,  and  know  from  broken  words  which  had  drop- 
ped now  and  then  how  she  had  loved  her  only 
daughter,  the  mother  of  Cicely  and  Tim,  and  how 
sore  her  heart  was  for  the  poor,  lost  girl,  and  what 
a  power  of  wronged  and  disappointed  love  lay 
seething  and  fermenting  beneath  the  sour  sharp 
words  she  spoke  ? 

Roger  and  I  knew  that  Gammer  Grindle  was  no 
outlaw  from  the  pale  of  humanity  by  seeing  it ; 
and  Rachel  Forster  knew  it,  I  believe,  by  seeino- 
Him  at  whose  feet  so  many  outcasts  from  human 
sympathy  found  a  welcome.  And  so  it  hajipened, 
that  of  all  the  village  no  one  but  Rachel,  Roger  and 
I  sought  access,  or  Avould  have  had  it,  to  Gammer 
Grindle's  hovel,  so  that  Rachel  that  day  accompa- 
nied Tim  home,  and  was  permitted  to  share  his 
grandmother's  watch  that  night. 

For  Tim's  exhaustion  soon  changed  to  delirious 
fever,  as  his  wound  began  to  be  inflamed,  and  it 
was  as  much  as  both  the  women  could  do  to  keep 
him  from  rushing  out  of  the  hovel  to  "  follow  Mas- 
ter Roger." 

All  the  time,  they  noticed  he  kept  the  hand   of 


THE  DA  VBNANTS.  289 

tis  unwounded  arm  firmly  clenched  over  something. 
But  no  coaxing  or  commands,  even  from  his  grand- 
mother's voice,  which  he  Avas  so  used  to  obey, 
would  induce  him  to  unclasp  his  hand  or  let  it  go. 

All  that  night  and  the  next  day  the  two  women 
watched  hy  the  poor  lad,  bathing  his  head,  and  try- 
ing vainly  to  keep  him  still.  But  towards  evening 
his  strength  began  to  fail,  and  it  was  plain  that  the 
fever,  having  done  its  work,  was  relinquishing  its 
hold  to  the  cold  grasp  of  Another  stronger  than  it. 

The  poor  lad's  delirious  entreaties  ceased,  and  he 
lay  so  still,  that  Rachel  could  hear  the  cold  ripples 
of  the  Mere  outside  plashing  softly  among  the 
rushes,  stirred  by  the  night  Avind ;  and  they  sound- 
ed to  her  like  the  slow  waters  of  the  river  of 
Deatli. 

Only  now  and  then  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  like  a 
child  crooning  to  itself,  "  Poor  Tim,  Master  Roger 
knows.  Master  Roger  said,  you  have  done  all  you 
could.     Go  home." 

Once  also  his  eye  brightened,  and  he  said,  "Cice- 
ly, sister  Cicely !  Tell  her  to  come  soon — soon.  I 
have  watched  for  her  so  long !  " 

Rachel  tried  to  speak  to  him  about  Jesus,  the 
loving  Master  of  us  all;  he  did  not  object,  but 
whether  he  understood  or  not,  she  could  not  tell. 
He  did  not  alter  the  words  which  had  been  so  en- 
graven on  his  poor  faithful  heart.  Only  they  grew 
fainter  and  fainter,  and  fewer  and  moi'e  broken, 
until,  with  one  sigh,  "  Master — home,"  the  poor 
feeble  spirit  departed,  and  the  poor  feeble  body  was 
at  rest. 

25 


290 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


But  Rachel  said  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  blessed 
Lord  would  most  surely  not  fail  to  understand  the 
poor  lad  who  could  not  understand  about  Him,  yet 
had  served  so  faithfully  the  best  he  knevj.  And  she 
almost  thought  she  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  say- 
ing, "  Poor  Tim !  the  Master  knows.  You  have 
done  the  best  you  could.     Come  home  !  " 

It  was  not  until  the  poor  lad  was  dead  that  they 
found  what  he  had  been  so  tightly  clasping  in  his 
hand. 

It  was  a  fragment  of  paper  containing  a  few 
words  written  by  Job  Forster,  of  which  Tim  had 
indeed  "  taken  care,"  as  the  clasp  of  the  lifeless  hand 
proved  too  well. 

The  words  were, — 

"  Rachel,  be  of  good  cheer,  as  I  am.  I  am  hurt 
on  the  shoulder,  but  not  so  bad.  Tliey  are  taking 
me  with  Roger  to  Oxford  goal.  His  wound  is  in 
the  side,  painful  at  fii'st,  but  Dr.  Antony  got  the 
ball  out,  and  says  he  will  do  well.  Thee  must  not 
fret,  nor  try  to  come  to  us.  It  would  hurt  thee  and 
do  us  no  good.     The  Lord  careth." 

Rachel  read  this  letter,  with  every  Avord  made 
emphatic,  by  her  certainty  that  Job  would  make  as 
light  as  possible  of  any  trouble,  by  her  knowledge 
that  his  pen  was  not  that  of  a  ready  writer,  and 
by  her  sense  of  what  she  would  have  done  herself 
in  similar  circumstances. 

"  Rachel !  " — the  word,  she  knew,  had  taken  him 
a  minute  or  two  to  spell  out,  and  it  meant  a  whole 
volume    of  esteem    and  love;    and    by   the    same 


•THE  DAVENANT8. 


291 


measure,  "  hurt "  meant  "  disabled  ;  "  and  "  not  so 
bad,"  simply  not  in  immediate  peril  of  life ;  and 
"  thee  must  not  come,"  to  her  heart  meant  "  come  if 
thou  canst,  though  I  dare  not  bid  thee." 

It  was  not  Rachel's  way  to  let  trouble  make  her 
helpless,  or  even  prevent  her  being  helpful  where 
she  was  needed.  God,  she  was  sure,  had  not  meant 
it  for  that.  She  lived  at  the  door  of  the  House  of 
the  Lord,  and  therefore,  at  this  sudden  alarm,  she 
did  not  need  a  long  pilgrimage  by  an  untrodden 
path  to  reach  the  sanctuary.  A  moment  to  lay 
down  the  burden  and  enter  the  open  door,  and  lift 
up  the  heart  there  within  ;  and  then  to  the  duty  in 
hand.  She  remained,  therefore,  Avith  Gammer 
Grindle  until  they  had  laid  the  poor  faithful  lad 
in  his  shroud  ;  then  she  gave  all  the  needful  orders 
for  the  burial,  so  that  it  was  not  till  dusk  she  was 
seated  in  her  own  cottage,  with  leisure  to  plan  how 
she  should  carry  out  what,  from  the  moment  she 
had  first  glanced  at  her  husband's  letter,  she  had  de- 
termined to  do. 

Half  an  hour  sufficed  her  for  thinking,  or"  taking 
counsel,"  as  she  called  it ;  half  an  hour  more  for 
making  preparations  and  coming  across  to  us  at 
Netherby,  with  her  mind  made  up  and  all  her  ar- 
rangements settled. 

Arrived  in  the  Hall,  she  handed  Job's  letter  to 
Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  What  can  be  done  ? "  said  Aunt  Dorothy. 
"  How  can  it  be  that  we  have  not  heard  from  my 
brother  or  Dr.  Antony?  The  king's  forces  must 
be  between  us  and  Oxford,  and  the  letters  must 


292 


THE  DHA  YTONS  AND 


have  been  seized.  But  nevei*  fear,  Rachel,"  she 
added,  in  a  consoling  tone.  "  At  first  they  talked 
of  treating  all  the  Parliament  prisoners  as  traitors ; 
but  that  will  never  be.  A  ransom  or  an  exchange 
is  certain.  Stay  here  to-night ;  it  will  be  less  lone- 
ly for  you.  We  can  take  counsel  together;  and 
to-morrow  we  will  think  what  to  do." 

'  I  have  been  thinking,  Mistress  Dorothy ;  and 
I  have  taken  counsel.  I  am  going  at  day-break  to- 
morrow to  Oxford  ;  and  I  came  to  ask  if  I  could 
do  aught  for  you,  or  take  any  message  to  Master 
Roger." 

"  How  ?"  said  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  And  who  will 
go  with  you  ?  Who  will  venture  within  the  grasp 
of  those  plunderers  ?" 

"  I  have  not  asked  any  one,  Mistress  Dorothy.  I 
am  going  alone  on  our  OAvn  old  farm-horse." 

"  JoM  travel  scores  of  miles  alone,  and  into  the 
midst  of  the  king's  army,  Rachel !"  said  Aunt 
Dorothy. 

"  I  have  taken  counsel,  Mistress  Dorothy,"  said 
Rachel  calmly,  and,  looking  up.  Aunt  Dorothy  met 
that  in  Rachel's  quiet  eyes  which  she  understood, 
and  she  made  no  further  remonstrance. 

"  We  will  write  letters  to  Roger,"  she  said,  after 
a  pause. 

In  a  short  time  they  were  ready,  with  one  front 
me  to  Lettice  Davenant. 

Neither  my  Aunts  nor  I  slept  much  that  night. 
We  were  revolving  various  plans  for  helping  Rachel, 
each  unknown  to  the  other. 

I  had  thought  of  a  letter  to  a  friend  of  my  Fa- 


THE  DAVENANTS. 


293 


ther's  who  lived  half-way  between  us  and  Oxford, 
and  rising  softly  in  the  night,  without  telling  any 
one,  I  wrote  it.  For  I  had  removed  to  Roger's 
chamber  while  he  was  away  ;  it  seemed  to  bring 
me  nearer  to  him. 

Then,  before  daybreak,  feeling  sure  Rachel  would 
be  watching  for  the  first  streaks  of  light,  I  crept 
out  of  our  house  to  hers. 

She  was  dressed,  and  was  quietly  packing  up  the 
great  Bible  which  lay  always  on  the  table,  and  lay- 
ing it  in  the  cupboard. 

"  Happy  Rachel !"  I  said,  kissing  her ;  "  to  be  old 
enough  to  dare  to  go." 

"  There  is  always  some  work,  sweetheart,"  said 
she,  "  for  every  season,  not  to  be  done  before  or 
after.  That  is  why  we  need  never  be  afraid  of 
growing  old." 

I  gave  her  my  letter.  She  took  it  gratefully;  but 
she  said — 

'•'  Too  fine  folks  for  a  plain  body  like  me,  Mis- 
tress Olive.  God  bless  you  for  the  thought.  But 
in  one  village  I  must  pass  there  is  a  humble  godly 
man  who  has  oft  tai-ried  with  us  for  a  night,  and 
has  expounded  the  word  to  us,  and  no  doubt  he  will 
give  me  a  token  to  anothei*.  And  if  not,  the  seven 
thousand  are  always  known  to  the  Lord.  The 
prophet  Elijah,  indeed,  did  not  know ;  but  after  he 
was  told  about  it  once  for  all,  none  of  us  ought  ever 
to  say  again,  '  I  only  am  left  alone.'  " 

"But  how  will  you  manage  when  you  get  to 
Oxford  ?"  I  said. 

^  God  forbid  I  should  presume  to  say,  sweet" 
25* 


29+  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

« 
heart,"  said  slie.     "  Oxford  is  many  steps  off.     And 
the  Lord  has  only  shown  me  the  next  step.     Job  is 
wounded  and  in  prison  and  wants  me,  and  will  my 
God,  and  his,  fail  to  show  me  how  to  get  to  him  ?" 

As  she  spoke  these  last  words,  the  force  of  re- 
pressed passion,  and  of  faith  contending  in  them, 
gave  her  voice  an  nnwonted  depth,  which  made  it 
sound  to  me  like  another  voice  answering  her. 

At  that  moment  Aunt  Gretel  arrived,  laden  with 
a  small  basket  containing  spiced  cordials  and  pre- 
served meats  for  Rachel's  journey. 

And  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  Aunt 
Dorothy,  on  horseback,  bent  on  protecting  Rachel 
through  some  portion  of  her  way. 

And  then  Margery  and  the  babe,  who  had  come 
at  Rachel's  request. 

Before  mounting  her  horse,  Rachel  said, — 

"  You  w^ill  have  thought  of  being  at  poor  Tim's 
burying.  Mistress  Olive  ?" 

We  promise  all  to  be  there. 

And  Rachel  from  the  mounting-steps  climbed  up 
on  the  patient  old  horse,  and  was  gone,  only  turning 
back  once  to  smile  at  us  as  we  watched  her. 

She  was  not  a  woman  for  after-thoughts,  or  last 
lingering  words.  She  had  always  said  what  she 
wanted  before  the  last. 

She  had  left  us  the  heavy  key  of  the  cottage-door, 
that  we  might  give  away  the  little  stores  which 
she  had  divided  the  night  before  into  various  por- 
tions for  her  poor  neighbours.  She  had  intended 
committing  them  to  Margery,  but  as  we  were  there 
first,  we  undertook  the  charge.     How  simply  and 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  295 

bow  imlieralded  events  come  which  hallow  our 
common  tables  and  chambers  with  the  tender  so- 
lemnity as  of  places  of  worship  or  of  burial.  The 
sound  of  Rachel's  horse-hoofs  was  scarcely  out  of 
hearing  when  the  empty  cottage  had  become  to  us 
as  a  sacred  place.  The  little  packets  her  neat  hands 
had  arranged  so  thoughtfully  were  no  '  common 
loaves,  or  meat,  but  sacred  relics  hallowed  by  her 
loving  touch.  And  it  was  hard  to  look  at  the  fire- 
wood Job  had  piled  by  the  fire  for  her,  and  the  lit- 
tle stone  channel  he  had  made  to  bring  the  water 
near  the  door,  without  tears. 

LETTICE    DAYENANX'S     DIARY. 

"  Oxford,  November  1,  1642. — Victoria  !  The  first 
step  is  gained;  the  first  lesson  given,  though  at 
some  cost  of  noble  lives  to  us  and  to  the  king. 
Lord  Essex  is  fain  to  retreat  to  London  to  console 
the  affiighted  citizens,  leaving  the  whole  country 
open  to  the  king.  Yet  my  Father  saith  privately 
to  us,  this  victory  of  Edgehill  might  have  been  far 
more  complete  had  it  not  been  for  Prince  Rupert's 
rashness.  Indeed,  after  the  fight  there  had  well- 
nigh  been  a  duel  in  the  king's  presence  between  the 
prince  and  a  gentleman  who  expressed  his  mind 
pretty  freely  on  the  matter.  The  prince,  after  pur- 
suing the  rebels  to  Keinton,  lingered  there,  i^lund- 
ering  the  baggage,  and  returned  with  his  horses 
laden  with  the  spoils  to  find  the  royal  army  not  in 
Buch  order  as  it  might  have  been  had  his  troops 
kept  with  it.  '  We  can  give  a  good  account  of  the 
enemy's  horse,  your  Majesty,'  he  said.     '  Yes,'  said 


296  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

this  gentleman  standing  by, '  and  of  their  carts  too.' 
For  which  jest  the  haughty  hot-blooded  prince 
would  have  had  severe  revenge,  had  not  the  king 
with  much  ado  brought  them  to  an  accommoda- 
tion. 

"  Note. — The  young  Princes  Charles  and  James, 
of  but  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  had  a  narrow  escape. 
Their  governor.  Dr.  Harvey,  a  learned  man,  was 
sitting  quietly  with  them  on  the  grass  reading  his 
book,  and  never  perceived  anything  was  amiss  until 
the  bullets  came  whizzing  round  him.  I  wonder 
royal  persons  should  be  trusted  to  the  care  of  peo- 
ple whose  wits  are  always  at  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
like  philosophers.  Who  knows  how  different  things 
might  have  been  in  the  world  if  Dr.  Harvey  and 
the  young  princes  had  sat  there  a  few  minutes 
longer ! 

"  However,  the  best  fruits  of  victory  are  begin- 
ning to  appear.  Gentlemen,  whose  loyalty  had 
been  somewhat  wavering,  are  riding  in  from  all 
quarters,  well  accoutred,  abundantly  attended, 
finely  mounted,  to  offer  their  services  to  His  Maj- 
esty. 

"This  grave  and  stately  old  city  is  gorgeous 
with  warlike  array,  and  echoing  with  warlike 
music. 

"  My  Father,  Mother,  and  I  are  lodged  in  Lin- 
coln College.  A  distant  cousin  of  ours,  Sir  Wil- 
Hani  Davenaiit,  who  hath  Avrit  many  plays  and  far- 
ces, and  now  fights  in  the  army,  being  of  this  col- 
lege, and  also  others  of  our  kindred  from  the  north 
country,    I  feel  quite  at  home  in  the  rooms  witU 


THE  DA  VEXANTS. 


297 


their  thick  walls,  and  high  narrow  arched  windows 
like  those  in  the  tvirret-chamber  at  the  Hall,  more 
at  home  than  the  old  quadrangles  and  walls  them- 
selves can  be  with  all  this  clamour  and  trumj^eting 
t-o  arms, 

"  Not  that  there  is  much  to  he  seen  in  the  great 
inner  court  on  which  my  chamber-window  looks. 
An  ancient  vine  climbs  up  one  side  of  the  walls, 
encircling  the  entrance  arch,  and  its  leaves,  brown 
and  crimson  with  the  autumn,  stirred  with  the 
breeze,  are  making  a  pleasant  quiet  country  music 
as  I  write.  This  vine  is  held  in  high  honour  in  the 
college,  having  illustrated  the  text  of  the  sermon, 
'Look  on  this  vine,'  which  inspired  good  Bishoj)  de 
Rotheram,  more  than  two  hundred  years  since,  to 
become  the  second  Founder  of  the  College. 

"  Through  tliis  entrance-arch  I  look  beyond  its 
shadow  to  the  sunny  street,  crossed  now  and  then 
by  the  flash  of  arms,  and  gay  Cavaliers'  mantles, 
or  the  prancings  of  a  troop  of  horse.  That  is  all 
the  glimpse  I  have  of  the  outer  world.  But  I  think 
my  Mother  were  content  to  live  in  such  a  place  for 
ever.  Every  day  she  resorts  more  than  once  to  a 
quiet  corner  of  the  new  Chapel  to  pay  her  orisons, 
taking  delight  in  the  stillness,  and  in  the  brilliant 
colours  of  the  painted  windows  Bishop  Williams 
(once  the  antagonist  of  Archbishop  Laud,  and  now 
with  him  in  the  Tower)  had  brought  but  a  few 
years  since  from  Italy. 

"  Outside  this  chapel  there  is  a  garden,  where  we 
walk,  and  discourse  of  the  i:)rospects  of  the  king- 


298  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

dom,  and  of  those  friends  at  Netherby  from  wIioTn 
we  are  now  so  sadly  parted. 

"  For  Roger  and  Mr,  Drayton  are  in  the  rebel 
army — alas !  there  is  no  longer  doubt  of  it — and 
any  day  their  hands  and  those  of  my  seven  broth- 
ers, all  in  the  king's  army,  may  be  against  each 
other. 

"  November  8th. — The  king  and  the  army  are 
away  at  Reading,  with  my  Father  and  my  broth- 
ers ;  and  the  city  is  quiet  enough  without  them. 

"  Sir  Launcelot  is  now  on  service  about  the  Cas- 
tle. I  would  he  were  on  the  field,  and  one  of  my 
brothers  here.  However,  I  am  not  like  to  see 
much  of  him  at  present.  He  will  scarce  venture  to 
come  after  what  I  had  to  say  to  him  this  morn- 
ing. 

"  He  came  in  laughing,  saying  he  had  just  seen 
an  encounter  between  an  old  rebel  Avoman  at  the 
gate  and  four  of  Prince  Rupert's  plunderers.  '  She 
was  contending  with  them  for  the  possession  of  a 
sober  Puritanical-looking  old  horse,'  said  he.  '  They 
claimed  it  for  the  king's  service.  She  said  '  that 
might  be,  but  in  that  case  she  chose  to  give  it  up 
herself  unto  the  care  of  one  of  His  Majesty's  court, 
to  whom  she  had  a  letter.' 

" '  Did  you  not  give  her  a  helping  word  ?'  said  I. 

" '  I  am  scarcely  such  a  knight  errant  as  that, 
Mistress  Lettice,'  said  he ;  'I  should  have  enough 
to  do,  in  good  sooth.  Moi'eover,  the  godly  gene- 
rally make  good  fight  for  their  carnal  goods,  and 
in  this  instance  the  woman  seemed  as  likely  as  not 


TEE  DA  VENANTS.  297 

to  have  the  best  of  the  debate,  to  say  nothing  of  her 
being  wrinkled  and  tooUdess.' 

"  That  made  me  flash  up,  as  speaking  lightly  of 
aged  Avomen  always  does.  '  Poor  chivalry,'  said  T, 
'  which  has  not  recollection  enough  of  a  mother  to 
lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  old  and  wrinkled.  We 
shall  be  wrinkled  and  toothless  in  a  few  years,  sir, 
and  our  imagination  is  not  so  weak  but  that  we  can 
fore-date  a  little  while,  and  transfer  all  such  heart- 
less jests  to  ourselves.  I  have  been  used  to  higher 
chivalry  than  that  among  the  Puritans. 

"  He  laughed,  and  made  a  pretty  pathetic  depre- 
cation. His  mother  had  died  (quoth  he)  when  he 
was  too  young  to  remember.  Some  little  excuse, 
perchance.  However,  Roger  Drayton's  mother  also 
died  when  he  was  in  infancy.  But  be  that  as  it 
might,  I  was  in  no  mood  to  listen.  And  as  we 
were  speaking,  a  serving-man  came  to  tell  me  a 
poor  woman  from  Netherby  was  in  the  ante-room 
craving  to  see  me  or  my  Mother. 

"  It  was  Rachel  Forster. 

"  Her  neat  Puritan  hood,  so  dainty,  I  think  around 
her  pale  worn-looking  face,  was  rather  ruffled,  and 
although  her  eyes  had  the  wonted  quiet  in  them, 
(only  a  little  loftier  than  usual,)  she  was  trembling, 
and  willingly  took  the  chair  I  offered  her. 

" '  You  did  not  find  it  easy  coming  through  the 
royal  lines,'  I  said. 

" '  Nothing  but  a  few  rude  jests  at  the  gate,  Mis- 
tress Lettice,'  said  she  ;  '  but  I  am  not  used  to  them, 
or  to  going  about  the  world  alone.     But  I  have 


300 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


"been  taken  good  care  of.  And  I  am  hei-e^  she  added, 
fervently ;  '  which  is  all  I  asked.' 

"  '  Did  they  try  to  take  your  horse  from  you  ?'  I 
said. 

"  '  They  took  him,'  she  said.  '  But  that  matters 
little.  He  was  a  faithful  beast,  and  I  am  feared  how 
they  may  use  him.  But  the  beasts  have  only  now^ 
neither  fore  nor  after,  which  saves  them  much,' 
Then  without  more  words  she  gave  me  a  letter  from 
Olive. 

"  From  this  I  found  that  Roger  is  a  prisoner  in 
the  Castle  here,  with  Job  Forster, 

"  I  went  into  the  other  chamber,  and  asked  Sir 
Launcelot  had  he  known  of  this. 

" '  I  learned  it  a  day  or  two  since,'  he  replied, 
hesitating,  '  but  I  did  not  tell  you  or  Lady  Lucy, 
because  you  are  so  pitiful,  I  feared  to  pain  you 
uselessly.' 

"  '  We  might  have  judged  whether  it  was  use- 
lessly or  not,  Sir  Launcelot !'  said  L 

"  '  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?'  he  asked,  in  con- 
fusion. 

"  '  Nothing,'  said  L  '  You  might  have  helped  an 
aged  woman,  a  friend  of  mine,  whom  you  found  in 
difficulties  at  the  gate  this  morning.  But  now, 
excuse  me,  I  have  no  time  to  spare — I  must  go  to 
my  Mother.'  And  I  withdrew  to  the  inner  room, 
to  bring  my  Mother  out  at  once  to  see  what  could 
be  done;  leaving  him  to  retire  through  the  ante- 
I'oora,  where  Rachel  Forster  sat. 

"  I  trow  he  will  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  visit  us  again. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


301 


"  My  Mother  and  Rachel  had  always  been  friends. 
They  both  live  a  good  deal  at  the  height  where  the 
party-colours  blend  in  the  one  sunlight ;  and  they 
neither  of  them  ever  speak  half  as  much  as  they 
feel  about  religion. 

"  There  was  not  much  to  say,  therefore,  when  my 
Mother  understood  her  errand.  My  Mother's  word 
had  weight,  and  in  a  few  hours  she  had  procured  a 
pennit  for  Rachel  to  see  her  husband,  provided  the 
interview  was  in  her  presence. 

"  It  was  a  noisome  place,  she  said — many  persons 
crowded  together  like  cattle  in  dungeons,  with 
scant-  light  or  air,  and  none  to  wait  on  them  but 
each  other.  Job  was  on  some  straw  in  a  corner, 
looking  sorely  altered — his  strong  limbs  limp  and 
emaciated,  and  his  eye  languid.  But  it  was  won- 
derful how  his  face  lighted  up  when  he  saw  Ra- 
chel. 

"  '  I  thought  thee  would  come',  said  he,  *  though 
I  bid  thee  not.  I  knew  thee  had  learned  how  "  all 
things  are  possible."  ' 

"My  Mother's  intercessions  procured  for  them 
the  great  favour  of  a  cell,  which,  though  narrow, 
low,  damp,  and  underground,  they  were  to  have  to 
themselves.  And  before  she  left,  Rachel's  neat 
hands  had  made  the  straw  and  matting  look  like  a 
proper  sick-bed,  while  her  presence  had  lighted  the 
cell  into  a  home. 

"  Then  my  Mother  went  to  see  Roger  Drayton. 

His  wound  was  not  so   severe  as  Job's,  and  his 

lodging  was  better,  though  wretched  enough.  Great 

complaints  were  made  about  the  prisons.     But,  I 

26 


302  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

fear,  all  war-prisons,  suddenly  and  not  very  tender- 
ly arranged,  are  hard  enough, 

"'Have  you  seen  Job  Forster?'  was  his  first 
question  after  greeting  her. 

"  She  told  him  what  had  been  done. 

" '  I  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  share  his  pris- 
on.    But  they  would  not  let  me,'  said  Roger. 

"Roger,  though  far  less  sufiering,  looked  less 
tranquil  than  Job,  my  Mother  said.  He  did  not 
ask  for  me  until  he  had  read  Olive's  letter,  and  then 
he  said  abruptly, — 

"  '  Olive  says  she  has  written  to  Mistress  Lettice.' 
And  his  face  flushed  deeply  as  he  added,  '  Olive  is 
but  a  child  in  such  things,  Lady  Lucy,  and  cannot 
know  the  hard  laws  of  war.  You  will  not  be 
oflended  if  she  pleads,  fancying  you  could  do  any- 
thing for  us.  You  must  not  let  anything  she  says 
trouble  you,  you  are  so  kind.  For  I  know  nothing 
can  be  done.' 

"  '  Only  one  thing  troubles  me,'  my  Mother  said, 
evasively,  '  I  would  give  much  if  that  could  be 
changed.' 

"  She  did  not  think  it  generous  to  say  more,  but 
he  understood,  and  answered, — 

"  *  That  can  not  be  changed,  unless  all  could  be 
changed.  It  makes  me  restless  enough  to  be  shut 
up  here.  Lady  Lucy,  but  it  does  not  make  me 
doubt.'' 

" '  Those  Draytons  are  like  rocks— as  firm,  and 
almost  as  hard.  No,  not  hard.  Nothing  they 
ought  not  to  be,  if  only  they  were  on  the  right 
fiidel 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


303 


"  And  Roger  called  Olive  a  cliild.  I  wonder, 
then,  what  he  thinks  me,  who  am  two  years 
younger  1 

"  However,  my  Mother  thinks  something  can  be 
done  for  Roger.  Exchanges  can  be  made.  Little 
comfort  in  that.  He  is  less  dangerous  to  himself 
and  every  one  else  where  he  is,  than  in  the  field 
again.  Yet  my  Mother  says  the  air  and  food  of  the 
prison  are  none  of  the  most  wholesome.  And,  of 
course,  Olive  wants  to  have  him  free.  These  are 
most  perplexing  times.  One  cannot  even  tell  what 
to  wish. 

"  I  would  send  him  a  message  when  my  Mother 
goes  again,  but  that  he  scarcely  even  asked  for  me ; 
only  defended  himself  against  joining  in  Olive's 
pleadings  for  himself.  So  proud  !  I  will  send  him 
no  message,  not  a  word.  Nothing  but  a  few  sweet 
autumn  violets  from  the  college  garden;  because 
the  air  of  the  prison  is  so  bad. 

'•^February  10. — Job  Forster  all  but  sank.  He 
must  have  died  if  my  Mother  had  not  pleaded  hard 
and  got  permission  at  last  for  him  to  be  taken  home 
to  Netherby  in  one  of  our  Hall  wagons.  She 
thought  it  would  scarce  be  more  than  to  die.  But 
to-day  we  have  had  a  letter  from  Rachel,  saying,  the 
very  sight  of  the  forge  and  smell  of  the  fields 
seemed  to  work  on  him  like  a  heavenly  cordial,  and 
she  doubts  not  he  will  rally.  Dr.  Antony  hath 
been  to  see  him,  and  Olive,  and  Mistress  Gretel,  and 
Mistress  Dorothy,  and  brought  him  meats  and 
strong  waters,  and  read  him  sermons,  saith  she,  and 
they  say  he  could  not  be  doing  better.     But,  she 


304 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


adds,  she  hopes  Lady  Lucy  will  not  think  it  thank- 
less that  he  should  use  his  liberty  to  fight  for  the 
Parliament,  as  no  condition  was  made  on  his  re- 
turn ;  and  he  thinks  the  Covenant  under  which  he 
fights  must  stand  good,  and  dares  not  break  it.  So 
my  sweet  Mother  hath  on  her  conscience  the  guilt 
of  tenderly  nourishing  a  vii^er  to  sting  what  she 
loveth  best ! 

"  But  Roger  Drayton  is  to  be  exchanged  for  one 
of  our  Cavaliers,  and  is  to  leave  Oxford  to-morrow. 
All  these  weeks  he  hath  been  here,  and  never  a 
word  between  us,  except  some  cold  thanks  for  those 
violets.  So  proud  is  he  !  And  it  was  not  for  me 
to  begin. 

'''■  Febrnarxj  11. — Roger  Drayton  had  the  grace  to 
pay  us  his  devoirs  before  he  left,  at  Lincoln  College. 
But  he  would  scarce  sit  down.  I  trow  he  was 
afraid  of  being  vanquished  if  he  ventured  into  de- 
bate concerning  his  bad  cause.  He  did  not  say 
anything  to  me.  If  he  had,  I  felt  tempted  to  say 
something  angry.  But  he  did  not  begin  ;  and  why 
should  I  ?  Until  at  last,  as  he  was  leaving,  he 
said, — 

" '  Mistress  Lettice,  I  am  going  to  join  Colonel 
Cromwell  at  Cambi'idge.  But  I  may  see  Olive  by 
the  way.  May  I  say  a  word  to  her  from  you  ?  Some- 
times a  message  is  better  than  a  letter.' 

"  I  could  not  think  of  anything  to  say.  It  took 
me  so  by  surjirise  after  his  silence.  For  it  was  just 
like  his  old  tone  by  the  Mere,  or  in  the  woods,  or 
on  the  terraces  at  Netherby,  and  at  the  Hall.  And 
it  so  brought  poor  old  Netherby  back  to  me,  and  all 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  305 

tlie  old  happy  days,  taat  I  was  afraid  my  voice 
would  tremble  it'  I  spoke.  I  could  only  think  of 
Mistress  Dorothy's  sermons  ;  things  come  into  one's 
head  so  strangely.  So,  after  a  little  while,  I  said 
very  abruptly,  '  I  sent  Olive  dear  love — and  to  tell 
Mistress  Dorothy  I  had  read  her  sermons.' 

"  But  Ills  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  wished  us 
good-bye ;  I  certainly  think  it  did.  And  he  was 
not  out  of  the  door  when  I  thought  of  ten  thousand 
messages  to  send  to  Olive.  But  I  could  not  go 
after  him  to  say  them.  I  could  only  go  to  the  win- 
dow and  watch  him  through  the  court.  I  was  al- 
most sorry  I  did.  For  he  looked  up  and  saw  me, 
and  seemed  half  inclined  to  turn  back.  But,  in- 
stead, he  made  a  strange  little  reverence,  as  if  he 
did  not  quite  know  whether  to  s^em  to  see  me  or 
not.  I  wonder  if  he  also  had  thought  of  a  few 
things  he  would  have  liked  to  have  said  !  He  was 
always  rather  slow  in  speech ;  I  mean,  his  words 
always  meant  about  ten  times  as  much  as  any  other 
man's. 

"  And  so  he  strode  across  the  court  and  under  the 
shadow  of  the  archway  into  the  sunny  street  out- 
side. To  join  Colonel  Cromwell.  Colonel,  indeed  ! 
By  whose  commission  ?  Roger  might  at  least  have 
spared  us  that.  If  it  had  been  Mr.  Hampden  even, 
or  Lord  Essex,  it  would  not  have  been  so  bad.  But 
this  fanatic  brewer ! 

"  However,  I  am  glad  I  said  nothing  angry.  One 
never  knows  in  these  days  where  or  when  the  next 
word  may  be  spoken.  And  then  alackj  this  Mr, 
20=^ 


3o6  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Cromwell,  they  say,  is  sure  to  "be  just  where  the 
fighting  is. 

"  He  did  not  look  amiss  in  that  plain  Puritan  as- 
mour.  The  cap-a-pie  armour  of  the  '  Ironsides,'  as 
some  begin  to  call  them.  It  seems  to  me  more 
martial  and  more  manly  than  the  gay  trappings 
of  our  Cavaliers.  Gallant  decorations  are  well 
enough  for  a  dance  or  a  masque ;  but  in  real  war- 
fare I  think  the  plainest  vesture  looks  the  noblest. 
At  Edgehill  His  Majesty  must  have  looked  most 
stately  in  his  suit  of  plain  black  velvet,  with  no  or- 
nament but  the  George. 

^^  March  1643, — There  is  a  Dr.  Thomas  Fuller 
lodging  here  at  present,  who  is  a  great  solace  to  my 
Mother,  and  also  to  me,  being  a  kind  of  cousin  of 
ours  through  his  maternal  uncle  Dr.  Davenant, 
Bishop  of  Salisbury. 

"  He  is  tall  and  athletic,  with  pleasant  blue  eyes, 
full  of  mirth,  and  withal  of  kindness,  of  a  ruddy 
complexion,  with  fair  wavy  locks.  He  hath  wit 
enough  for  a  j^lay-wright,  and  piety  enough, — Iliad 
almost  said  for  a  Puritan — I  should  rather  say  for 
an  archbishop. 

"  He  was  in  London  a  few  weeks  since,  and  preach- 
ed a  sermon  to  incline  the  rebels  to  peace,  which  is 
all  his  desire.  But  they  did  not  relish  it,  and  would 
have  him  sign  one  of  their  unmannerly  Covenants ; 
which  not  being  able  to  do,  he  has  fled  hither.  Yet 
am  I  not  sure  that  he  is  more  at  home  among  our 
rollicking  Cavaliers. 

"  I  would  I  could  remember  half  the  wise  and 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


307 


witty  things  he  saith,  I  like  his  wit,  because  is 
often  cuts  both  ways — against  Puritan  and  Cava- 
lier ;  and  more  especially  at  present  against  the 
younger  sort  sort  of  the  latter,  whose  reckless  man- 
ners suit  him  ill.  The  poor  Pui'itans  are  so  hit  on 
all  sides  with  the  shafts  of  ridicule,  that  in  fairness 
I  like  to  see  some  of  the  darts  flying  the  other  way» 
especially  against  such  as  assume  to  themselves  the 
monopoly  of  wit. 

" '  Harmless  mirth,'  said  Dr.  Fuller  the  other 
day,  '  is  the  best  cordial  against  the  consumption  of 
the  spirits,  but  jest  not  with  the  two-edged  sword 
of  God's  word.  Will  nothing  please  thee  to  wash 
thy  hands  in  but  the  font  ?  Or  to  drink  healths  in 
but  the  church-chalice  ? ' 

"  He  is  very  busy,  and  is  abstemious  in  eating 
and  drinking,  and  is  an  early  riser.  Sir  Launcelot, 
liking  not,  I  ween,  to  feel  the  jest  so  against  himself, 
calls  him  a  Puritan  in  disguise  ;  but  Harry  and  he 
are  good  friends,  and  to  my  Mother  he  behaveth 
ever  with  a  gentle  deference,  as  all  men,  indeed,  are 
wont  to  do.  With  her  his  wit  seems  to  change  its 
nature  from  fire  to  sunshine.  So  tenderly  doth  he 
seek  to  brighten  her  pensive  and  somewhat  self- 
reproachful  spirit  into  peace  and  praise.  She  on 
her  part  hath  her  sweet  returns  of  sympathy  for 
him,  drawing  him  forth  to  discourse  of  his  young 
wife  lately  dead,  and  his  motherless  infant  boy. 

"Religion  with  my  Mother  is  a  life  of  affections, 
not  merely  a  code  of  rules ;  and,  I  suppose,  like  all 
affections,  brings  its  sorrows  as  well  as  its  joys. 


3o8  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Otherwise  I  could  scarce  account  for  the  heaviness 
she  so  often  is  burdened  withal. 

"  One  day,  when  she  was  fearing  to  embrace  the 
cheering  words  of  Scripture,  Dr.  Fuller  encouraged 
her  by  reminding  her  how  in  the  Hebrews  the  prom- 
ise, '  I  will  not  leave  thee,  nor  forsake  thee,'  though 
at  lirst  made  only  to  Joshua,  is  applied  to  all  good 
men.  'All  who  trust  the  Saviour,  and  follow 
him,'  said  he,  '  are  heirs-apparent  to  all  the  prom- 
ises.' 

"  But  she,  who  being  a  saint  (by  any  laws  of  ca- 
nonization) ever  bemoaneth  herself  as  though  she 
were  a  penitent  weeping  between  the  porch  and  the 
altar,  put  off  his  consolation  with — 

" '  True,  indeed,  for  all  good  men.' 

"  To  which  he,  unlike  most  ghostly  comforters  I 
have  heard,  replied  with  no  honeyed  commenda- 
tion, false  or  true,  but  said, — 

"  '  In  the  agony  of  a  wounded  conscience  always 
look  upward  to  God  to  keep  thy  soul  steady.  For 
looking  downward  on  thyself,  thou  shalt  find 
nothing  but  what  will  increase  thy  fear;  infinite 
sins,  good  deeds  few  and  imperfect.  It  is  not  thy 
faith,  but  God's  faithfulness  thou  must  rely  on. 
Casting  thine  eyes  down  to  thyself,  to  behold  the 
great  distance  between  Avhat  thou  desirest  and  what 
thou  deservest  is  enough  to  make  thee  giddy,  stag- 
ger, and  reel  unto  despair.  Ever,  therefore,  lift  up 
thine  eyes  to  the  hills  whence  cometh  thine  help.' 

" '  The  reason,'  quoth  he  afterwards,  *  why  so 
many  are  at  a  loss  in  the  agony  of  a  wounded  con- 


THE  DA  VEh^ANTS.  309 

science,  is,  that  they  look  for  their  life  in  the  wrong 
place — namely,  in  their  own  piety  and  purity.  Let 
them  seek  and  search,  dig  and  dive  never  so  deep, 
it  is  all  in  vain.  For  though  Adam's  life  was  hid  in 
himself,  yet,  since  Christ's"  coming  all  the  original 
evidences  of  our  salvation  are  kept  in  a  higher  office 
— namely,  hidden  in  God  himself.  Surely  many  a 
despairing  soul  groaning  out  his  last  breath  with 
fear  to  sink  down  to  hell,  hath  presently  been  coun- 
termanded by  God  to  eternal  happiness.' 

"  His  words  brought  tears  to  my  Mother's  eyes, 
but  comfort,  said  she,  to  her  heart. 

"  Yet,  though  she  saw  sunshine  through  the 
clouds,  she  feared  to  find  the  cloud  again  beyond 
the  sunshine,  whereon  he  heartened  her  further  by 
saying,  'Music  is  sweetest  near  or  over  rivers, 
where  the  echo  thereof  is  best  rebounded  by  the 
water.  Praise  for  pensiveness,  thanks  for  tears, 
and  blessing  God  over  the  floods  of  affliction, 
makes  the  most  melodious  music  in  the  ear  of 
heaven.' 

"  Good  and  fit  words  for  her  who  needs  and  de- 
serves such.  To  me  these  other  words  of  his  are 
more  to  the  purpose. 

"  '  How  easy,'  saith  he,  '  is  pen  and  paper  piety. 
It  is  far  cheaper  to  work  one's  head  than  one's  heart 
to  goodness.  I  can  make  a  hundred  meditations 
sooner  than  subdue  one  sin  in  my  soul.' 

"  He  gave  my  Mother  also  a  sermon  of  his  '  on  the 
doctrine   of   assurance,'  which    she  much    afiects. 

*  All  who  seek  the  grace  of  assurance,'  he   writes, 

*  in  a  diligent  and  faithful  life,  may  attain  it  without 


3 1  o  THE  LRA  7T0NS  AND 

miraculous  illumination.  Yet  many  there  are  "vrho 
have  saving  faith  without  it.  And  those  who  deny 
this  will  prove  racks  to  tender  consciences.  As  the 
careless  mother  killed  her  little  child,  for  she  over- 
laid it,  60  this  heavy  doctrine  would  press  many 
l?oor  but  pious  souls,  many  infant  faiths,  to  the  pit 
of  despair.' 

'■'■April  1643.— Dr.  Fuller  hath  left  us  to  be  chap- 
lain in  the  regiment  of  Lord  Hopton,  an  honorable 
man,  who  will  honour  him,  and  give  him  scope  to 
do  all  the  good  that  may  be  to  the  soldiers. 

"He  took  leave  of  us  in  the  college-garden,  and 
gave  my  Mother  a  book  of  his  imprinted  last  year, 
when  he  was  preacher  at  the  Savoy  in  London.  It 
is  entitled  the  Holy  State  and  the  Profane  State, 
and  seemeth  wise  and  witty  like  himself.  As  he 
parted  fi*om  us,  he  begged  her  to  remember  that 
'  all  heavenly  gifts,  as  they  are  got  by  prayer,  ar« 
kept  and  increased  by  praise.' 

'■^  Note. — I  like  well  what  he  writes  of  anger. 
'  Anger  is  one  of  the  sinews  of  the  soul.  He  that 
wants  it  hath  a  maimed  mind.'  I  would  I  had 
known  this  saying  to  comfort  Roger  Drayton 
withal,  when  Sir  Launcelot  provoked  him  to  that 
blow. 

"Yet  another  saying  is  perhaps  as  needful,  at 
least  for  me,  '  Be  not  mortally  angry  for  a  venial 
fault.  He  will  make  a  strange  combustion  in  the 
state  of  his  soul  who  at  the  landing  of  every  cock- 
boat sets  the  beacons  on  fire.' 

"  We  miss  Dr.  Fuller  sorely  ;  my  Mother  for  his 
words  of  ghostly  cheer,  and  I  for  the  just  and  gen- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


3«i 


erous  things  he  dares  to  say  of  good  men  on  the 
other  side,  and  saith  with  a  wit  and  point  which 
leaves  no  opening  foi  scornful  jest  to  controvert. 

"  If  Dr.  Fuller  had  been  the  vicar  of  Netherby, 
and  if  the  Draytons  had  known  him,  maybe  many 
things  had  gone  otherwise. 

"  Now,  alack  !  there  seems  less  hope  of  accommo- 
dation by  this  Christmas  than  I  had  felt  sure  of  by 
the  last. 

"The  Parliament  Commissioners  were  here 
through  March,  and  have  but  now  left. 

"  Some  Lords  and  some  Commons.  But  nought 
oould  they  accomplish.  How,  indeed,  could  aught 
be  hoped  from  subjects  who  presume  to  treat  with 
their  leige  lord  as  with  a  rival  power  ? 

"  My  Lord  Falkland  (now  the  king's  secretary) 
comes  now  and  then  to  converse  with  my  Mother. 
Those  who  knew  him  before  this  sad  rebellion  be- 
gan, say  he  is  sorely  changed  from  what  he  was. 
Whereas  his  mind  used  to  be  as  free  and  open  to 
entertain  all  wise  and  pleasant  thoughts  of  others, 
as  his  mansion  at  Great  Tew,  near  this  was  free 
and  open  to  entertain  their  persons,  so  that  they 
called  it '  a  college  of  smaller  volume  in  a  purer  air ; ' 
now,  they  say,  he  is  often  preoccupied,  and  when  in 
private  Avill  sigh  and  moan  '  Peace  !  peace  ! '  and 
say  he  shall  soon  die  of  a  broken  heart,  if  this  dire 
war  be  prolonged.  This  especially  since  the  royal 
army  was  driven  back  from  Brentford  on  its  way  to 
London. 

"  But  to  us,  who  contrast  him  not  with  his  former 
self,  but  with  other  men,  he  seems  the  gentlest  and 


J 1 X  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

most  affable  of  Cavaliers,  ever  ready  to  give  ear  and 
due  weight  to  thought  and  wish  of  any,  the  least 
or  the  k>west. 

"We  had  not  known  him  much  of  old,  because 
he  leant  to  the  Puritan  party  (being  a  close  friend 
of  Mr.  Hampden),  and  thought  ill  of  Archbishop 
Laud,  and  spoke  not  too  well  of  bishops  or  episco- 
pacy. 

"  But  in  this  conflict  I  think  the  noblest  on  each 
side  are  those  who  are  all  but  on  the  other ;  not,  I 
mean,  in  affection — for  lukewarmness  is  never  a  vir 
tue — but  in  conviction  and  character. 

"  The  queen  is  amongst  us  again,  as  graceful  anc! 
full  of  charms  as  ever.  But  some  think  the  king 
were  liker  to  follow  moderate  counsels  without  her. 
He  holds  her  as  ever  in  a  perfect  adoration,  and  it  is 
not  likely  to  conciliate  him  that  Parliament  have 
actually  dared  to  'impeach'  her.  Blasphemy  al- 
most, if  it  were  not  more  like  the  folly  of  naughty 
children  playing  at  being  grandsires  and  gran- 
dames  ! 

"  June  26. — Mr.  Hampflen  is  dead !  By  a  singu- 
lar mark  of  the  divine  judgment  (Mr.  Hyde  says), 
he  was  mortally  wounded  on  Chalgrove  Field,  the 
very  place  where  he  began  not  many  months  since 
to  proclaim  the  rebellious  Ordinance  Militia.  It 
was  in  a  skirmish  with  Prince  Pupert.  The  same 
night  the  rumour  spread  among  us  that  something 
beyond  ordinary  ailed  him,  for  he  was  seen  to  ride 
off  the  field  in  the  middle  of  the  fight  (a  thing  never 
before  known  in  him),  with  his  head  low  droojiing, 
and  his  hands  on  his  horse's  neck.     Less  than  a 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


3>3 


fortnight  afterwards,  he  died  in  sore  agonies,  they 
say,  but  persevering  in  his  delusion  to  the  end,  so 
that  his  heart  was  not  troubled. 

"  The  king  would  have  sent  him  a  chirurgeon  of 
his  own,  had  it  been  of  any  use. 

*'  He  was  much  on  my  Mother's  heart,  since  she 
heard  of  his  being  wounded,  for  he  was  ever  held 
to  be  a  brave  and  blameless  gentleman.  She 
grieved  sore  that  he  uttered  no  one  repentant  word. 

*'  (Yet  the  last  word  we  heard  he  spoke  was  not 
so  ill  a  word  to  die  with  ;  *  O  God,  save  my  bleed- 
ing country  !') 

" '  But,'  said  she,  '  there  are  Papists  who  die 
without  ever  seeing  anything  wrong  in  the  mass,  or 
in  regarding  the  blessed  Virgin  as  Queen  of  Hea- 
ven, who  yet  die  calling  on  the  blessed  Saviour 
with  such  piteous  .entreaty  as  he  surely  faileth  not 
to  hear.  And  it  may  be  trusted  Mr.  Hampden's 
heresy  is  no  worse.' 

*'  To  most  around  us  it  is  simply  the  rebels'  loss 
in  him  that  is  accounted  of. '  And  that  they  say  is 
more  than  an  army.  For  he  was  the  man  best  be- 
loved in  all  the  land.  Some  of  us,  however,  speak 
of  the  loss  to  England,  and  say  that  his  and  my 
Lord  Falkland's  were  the  only  right  hands  through 
which  this  sundered  realm  might  have  met  in  fel- 
lowship again. 

"  I  see  nothing  glorious  in  the  glories  of  this  war, 
nothing  triumphant  in  its  triumphs,  no  gain  in  its 
si:)oils. 

"It  makes  my  heart  ache  to  see  Prince  Rupert 
and  his  Cavaliers  return  flushed  with  success  and 
27 


314 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


laden  with  plunder  from  raids  all  over  the  country. 
I  cannot  help  seeing  in  my  heart  the  poor  farmers 
wandering  about  their  despoiled  granaries  and 
stalls,  and  the  goodwife  bemoaning  her  empty 
dairy,  and  the  children  missing  the  cattle  and  poul- 
try, which  are  not  'provision'  only  to  them,  but 
friends ;  and  soon,  alack  poor  foolish  babes,  to  miss 
provision  too  and  cry  for  it  in  vain. 

"  These  are  our  own  English  homes  that  are  rav- 
aged and  wasted.  What  triumph  is  there  in  it  for 
any  of  us  ?  I  would  the  hearts  of  these  Palatine 
princes  yearned  a  little  more  tenderly  towards  their 
mother's  countrymen. 

"The  only  hope  is  that  all  these  horrors  will 
bring  the  end,  the  end,  the  '  Peace,  peace,'  for  which 
my  Lord  Falkland  groans. 

"  But  I  know  not ;  I  think  of  Netherby  and  the 
Di"aytons ;  and  I  scarce  deem  English  hearts  are  to 
be  won  back  by  terror  and  plunder. 

'■'•August  28,  1643. — Better  hopes!  Something 
like  a  glimpse  of  the  end,  at  last, 

"  Two  memorable  months. 

"  Everything  is  going  prosperously  for  the  king 
and  the  good  cause,  north,  and  south,  and  west. 

"  In  the  north,  on  June  the  3rd,  the  Earl  of  New- 
castle defeated  Lord  Fairfax  and  the  rebels  at 
Atherton  Moor.  A  few  days  afterwards  York  and 
Gainsborough  and  Lincoln  surrendered,  and  now 
not  a  town  remains  to  the  Parliament  between  Ber 
wich  and  Hull. 

"  On  the  13th  of  July,  not  a  fortnight  afterwards, 
Sir  William  Waller  was  defeated  and  his  whole 


THE  BAVENANTS.  315 

army  scattered  on  Lansdowne  Heath,  near  Devizes ; 
the  only  offset  to  this  advantage  being  the  death  of 
the  brave  and  good  Sir  Bevill  Grenvill,  for  whose 
wife,  Lady  Grace,  bound  to  him  in  the  truest  hon- 
our and  love,  my  Mother  mourned  much. 

"  The  West,  they  say,  is  loyal ;  Cornwall  fervent 
for  the  king. 

"  And  on  July  22nd,  not  a  fortnight  after  this, 
Prince  Rupert  took  Bristol,  thus  doing  much  to  se- 
cure Wales,  otherwise,  moreover,  well-afiected. 

"  Our  hopes  are  high  indeed.  In  all  the  horizon 
there  seems  but  one  shadow  like  a  cloud,  and  that 
so  small  I  should  scarce  mention  it  but  that  an  old 
friend  is  under  it.  Mr.  Cromwell  (or  Colonel,  as  they 
call  him  now,  forsooth)  gained  some  slight  advan- 
tage at  Grantham  and  Gainsborough,  and  stormed 
Burleigh  House.  Indeed,  wherever  he  is,  they  say, 
he  seems  just  now  to  bring  good  fortune.  But  this, 
I  think,  bodes  no  ill.  Little  weight  indeed  can 
these  unsuccessful  skirmishes  have  to  counterbal- 
ance victories,  and  captured  cities,  and  reviving 
loyalty  throughout  the  Xorth  and  West  and  South. 
And  if  the  rebels  are  to  succeed  anywhere,  I  had 
rather  it  were  where  Roger  Drayton  is,  because  it 
is  in  the  nature  of  the  Dray  tons  to  be  more  yielding 
in  prosperity  than  in  ill  fortune. 

"  His  Majesty  has  just  set  forth  with  the  army, 
all  in  high  feather,  to  besiege  the  obstinate  and  dis- 
loyal city  of  Gloucester. 

"  Lord  Essex,  they  say,  is  collecting  an  army  to 
meet  him.     But  we  could  wish  for  no  better.     One 


3 1 6  THE  LRA  YTONS  AND 

decisive  battle,  my  Lord  Falkland  and  other  wise 
men  think,  is  the  one  thing  to  end  the  war. 

^^  September  22nd,  1643. — I  cannot  make  it  out. 
They  say  there  has  been  a  victory  at  Newbury,  yet 
nothing  seems  to*  come  of  it.  The  king  is  here 
again,  and  the  siege  of  Gloucester  is  given  up,  and 
our  people  begin  to  quarrel  among  themselves, 
treading  on  each  other  in  their  eagerness  for  places 
and  titles  and  honours.  I  think  they  might  wait  a  lit- 
tle, at  all  events,  till  the  Court  is  at  Whitehall  again. 

"  One  good  sign  is  that  three  rebel  Earls — Bed- 
ford, Holland,  and  Clare — have  returned  to  their 
allegiance.  The  Earl  of  Holland  raised  the  militia 
for  the  Parliament,  so  that  he  hath  somewhat  to  re- 
pent of  There  is  much  discussion  how  they  should 
be  received ;  the  elder  Cavaliers  recommending  a 
politic  forgetting  of  their  offence ;  but  we,  who  are 
younger,  desire  they  should  be  received  as  naughty 
children,  if  not  with  repi'oaches,  at  most  with  a  cool 
and  lofty  indifference,  to  show  we  need  them  not. 
It  would  not  look  well  to  be  too  glad.  And,  more- 
over, they  are  three  more  claimants  for  the  royal 
grace,  and  the  faithful  like  not  that  the  faithless 
should  be  better  served  than  they  who  have  borne 
the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day. 

"  I  thought  prosperity  would  have  made  us  one, 
but  it  seems  otherwise. 

"  And  Harry  says  the  noblest  is  gone.  The  no- 
blest, he  says,  always  fall  the  first  victims  in  such 
conflicts  as  these,  so  that  the  strife  grows  more  cru- 
el, and  baser  from  year  to  year. 

"  The  Lord  Falkland  was  slain  at  Newbury.     Ho 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


317 


was  missing  on  the  evening  of  the  fight,  but  all 
through  the  night  they  hoped  he  might  have  been 
taken  prisoner.  On  the  morrow,  however,  they 
found  him  among  the  slain,  '  Only  too  glad  to  re- 
ceive his  dischai-ge,'  Harry  said.  On  the  morning 
of  the  battle  he  was  of  good  cheer,  as  was  his  wont ; 
his  spirits  rising  at  the  approach  of  danger.  His 
friends  urged  him  not  to  go  into  the  battle,  he  hav- 
ing no  command,  but  he  would  not  be  kept  away. 
He  rode  gallantly  on  in  the  front  ranks  of  Lord  By- 
ron's regiment,  between  two  hedges,  behind  which 
the  Roundheads  had  planted  their  musketeers.  '  I 
am  weary  of  the  times,'  he  said  to  those  who  urged 
him  to  withdraw ;  '  I  foresee  much  misery  to  my 
country,  but  I  believe  I  shall  be  out  of  it  before 
night.' 

"  And  so  he  was ;  and  needeth  now  no  more  dole- 
fully to  moan  for  '  Peace,  peace  !'  as  so  often  in 
these  last  months.  He  is  singing  it  now,  Ave  trust, 
where  good  men  understand  all  perplexed  things, 
and  each  other. 

"  Falkland  and  Hampden  !  Alas  !  how  many 
more  before  the  peace  songs  are  chanted  here  on 
earth ! 

"  The  two  right  hands  are  cold  and  stiff  through 
which  the  king  and  the  nation  might  have  been 
clasped  together  again  in  fellowship. 

"  Who,  or  what,  will  reunite  us  now  ?" 


27* 


Chapter   IX. 

11  HE  winter  of  1G42-43  was  one  of  un- 
easy uncertainty  to  us  at  Netlierby. 
The  whole  Avorld  seemed  to  lie  dim 
and  hazy,  as  if  wrapped  in  the  heavy 
folds  of  a  November  fog.  The  next  villages  seemed 
to  become  far-oif  and  foreign,  in  the  unsettled  state 
of  the  country.  There  was  no  knowing  the  faces 
and  voices  of  friends  from  those  of  foes,  in  the 
rapid  shifting  of  parties.  The  comrade  of  yester- 
day was  the  opponent  of  to-day.  Who  could  say 
what  the  comrade  of  to-day  might  be  to-morrow? 
Mr.  Capel,  the  Member  for  Hertfordshire,  who  had 
been  the  first  in  Parliament  to  complain  of  griev- 
ances, had  become  Lord  Capel,  and  was  threatening 
the  seven  associated  counties  with  his  plunderers. 

Lord  Essex  (many  thought)  seemed  as  frightened 
at  success  as  at  foilure.  Victories  lulled  him  into 
fruitless  negotiations  ;  and  the  only  thing  that 
roused  him  to  action  was  imminent  ruin.  Some 
murmured  that  "  jH'ofessional  soldiers  love  long 
wars  as  physicians  love  long  diseases."  Some 
(318) 


THE  DA  VENANT8. 


319 


whispered  of  treachery,  and  others  of  Divine  dis- 
pleasure. The  explosion  of  battle  had  come ;  biit 
the  only  consequence  seemed  to  be  the  loosening  of 
the  whole  ground  around,  the  crumbling  away  of 
the  nation  in  all  directions. 

Partly,  no  doubt,  this  sense  of  vagueness  and 
dimness  was  caused  by  the  absence  from  most 
homes  and  communities  of  the  most  capable  and 
manly  men  in  each, — in  the  garrisons,  on  the  field, 
taking  counsel  with  the  King  at  Oxford,  or  taking 
counsel  for  the  nation  at  Westminster.  Thus  events 
were  left  to  be  guessed  and  debated  by  old  men 
despondent  with  the  decay  of  many  hopes  ;  or 
women,  draining  in  anxious  imaginations  the  dregs 
of  every  peril  they  could  not  share  in  fact ;  or  boys 
delighting  in  magnifying  the  dangers  they  hoped 
soon  to  encounter,  therewith  to  magnify  themselves 
in  the  eyes  of  mothers  and  maids. 

Rachel  Forster,  on  whose  gentle  strength  the 
whole  village  was  wont  to  lean,  was  away  ;  and 
Aunt  Dorothy,  the  manliest  heart  left  among  us, 
had  a  belief  in  the  general  wickedness  of  men,  and 
the  general  going  wrong  of  things  in  this  evil 
world,  which  was  anything  but  reassuring  to  those 
whose  fears  were  quickened  with  the  life-blood  of 
more  vivid  hopes  than  hers. 

Thus  we  were  ripe  for  all  kinds  of  credulities  that 
winter  at  Netherby. 

I  can  remember  nothing  rising  prominently  out 
of  the  general  hum  and  fog  except  two  convictions, 
which  enlarged  before  us  steadily,  becoming  more 
solid  instead  of  more  shadowy  as  they  came  nearer. 


3  2  o  7'^^  ^^^  YTOKS  A  ND 

The  first  was  the  impossibility  of  trusting  the  King. 
The  second  was  that  everything  went  right  where 
Colonel  Cromwell  was;  for  by  this  time  he  was 
Colonel  Cromwell,  at  the  head  of  his  regiment, 
which  he  was  sloAvly  sifting  and  compressing  into 
the  firm  invincible  kernel  of  his  invincible  army. 

A  dim,  dreary  time  it  was  for  us  from  the  Edge- 
hill  Fight,  in  October,  1G42,  to  the  beginning  of 
February,  1643.  Roger  in  prison  at  Oxford  with 
Job  ;  my  Father  at  Reading  or  in  London  with 
Lord  Essex  and  the  army. 

But  in  the  beginning  of  February  a  new  time 
dawned  on  us.  My  Father  came  home  to  us  for  a 
few  days,  to  make  the  old  house  as  tight  as  he 
could  against  any  assaults  from  Lord  Capel,  or  any 
straggling  party  of  Prince  Rupert's  j^lunderers, 
who  were  always  making  dashing  forays  into  the 
counties  favourable  to  the  Parliament,  and  appear- 
ing where  they  were  least  expected.  The  old  moat, 
which  in  front  of  the  house  had  long  been  the 
peaceful  retreat  of  many  generations  of  ducks,  and 
elsewhere  had  been  pai-tially  blocked  up  with  fallen 
stones  and  trees,  was  carefully  cleared  out  and  filled 
with  water.  The  terraces  which  led  to  it  on  the 
steep  side  of  the  house  were  scarped,  all  but  the 
uppermost,  which  was  palisadoed,  and  had  two 
great  guns  planted  on  it.  The  drawbridge  was  re- 
paired, and  ordered  to  be  always  drawn  up  at 
night.  We  were  provided  with  a  garrison  of  four 
of  the  farm-servants,  drilled  as  best  might  be  for 
the  occasion,  and  placed  under  the  command  of 
Bob,  which  virtually  placed  the  whole  fortress  under 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  3  2 1 

the  command  of  Tib,  whose  orders  were  the  only- 
ones  Bob  was  never  known  ^not  to  disregard. 
Meantime  my  aunts  and  I,  with  the  serving-maids, 
were  instructed  how  to  make  cartridges,  and  pre- 
pare matches  for  the  match-locks  ;  and  Avmt  Gretel 
gave  us  the  benefit  of  her  experience  in  pulling 
lint,  preparing  bandages,  and  other  hospital  work. 

If  an  attack,  however,  were  ever  made,  the  gene- 
ral belief  in  the  household  was  that  Aunt  Dorothy- 
would  take  her  place  as  commandant,  her  courage 
being  of  the  active  rather  than  the  passive  kind. 
Indeed,  I  think  the  sense  of  danger  to  ourselves 
was  a  kind  of  relief  to  most  of  us.  It  seemed  to 
make  us  sharers  in  the  great  struggle,  which  we 
believed  to  be  for  God,  and  truth,  and  righteous- 
ness. It  took  us  out  of  the  position  of  uneasy- 
listeners  for  rumours  into  that  of  sentinels  on  the 
alert  for  an  attack.  And  the  whole  spirit  of  the 
household  rose  from  dreamy  disquiet  into  cheery- 
watchfulness  and  activity. 

My  Father  brought  ns  the  story  of  the  king's  at- 
tempt to  surprise  London.  "  It  was  a  treacherous, 
unkingly  deed,"  my  Father  said,  "  enough  to  quench 
in  the  heart  of  the  people  every  spark  of  trust  left 
in  His  Majesty." 

He  said  it  happened  on  this  wise.  On  Thursday, 
the  11th  of  November,  1G42  (my  father  told  us), 
the  kins:  received  messensfers  from  the  Commons 
with  proposals  of  peace,  declared  his  readiness  to 
negotiate,  and  his  intention  to  remain  peaceably  in 
the  same  neighborhood  till  all  was  amicably  settled. 
The   Parliament,   trusting   him,  ceased   hostilities. 


^22  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Nevertheless,  instantly  after  despatcliing  this  mes- 
sage, he  set  off  in-  full  march  for  London.  On 
Saturday  he  sent  forces  under  Prince  Rupert  to 
surprise  Brentford  under  cover  of  a  November  fog, 
and  of  his  own  too  loyally  trusted  word.  But  Den- 
zil  HoUis,  with  part  of  his  regiment,  made  a  noble 
stand,  and  stopped  the  Prince's  progi-ess. 

Hampden  came  up  first,  and  Lord  Brook,  to  the 
succour  of  Hollis'  imperilled  regiment ;  they  tried 
to  fight  through  the  royal  troops,  which  had  sur- 
rounded Hollis  and  his  men  in  the  streets  of  Brent- 
ford. This  they  could  not  effect.  But  Hollis'  little 
band  themselves  fought  to  their  last  bullet,  and  then 
threw  themselves  into  the  river,  those  who  were 
not  drowned  swimming  past  Prince  Rupert's  troops 
to  Hampden  and  his  Greencoats.  Lord  Essex, 
hearing  the  sound  of  guns  in  the  Parliament  House, 
where  he  was  at  the  time,  took  horse  and  galloped 
across  the  parks  and  through  Knightsbridge  to  the 
scene  of  action.  Ater  this,  all  through  the  Satur- 
day night,  soldiers  came  pouring  out  from  the 
roused  city,  until,  on  Sunday  morning,  four  and 
twenty  thousand  men  were  gathered  on  Turnham 
Green. 

Then  the  tables  were  turned,  and  Hampden  fell 
on  the  king's  rear. 

"  And  then  ?"  asked  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"And  then,"  replied  my  Father,  drily,  "Lord 
Essex  recalled  him,  and  so  nothing  further  came  of 
it ;  but  things  have  gone  on  simmering  ever  since  ; 
always  getting  ready,  and  discussing  how  things 
should  be  done,  and  never  doing  them." 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


323 


"How  do  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr.  Pym  brook 
these  delays  ?"  said  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  Mr.  Hampden  would  have  had  my  Lord  Essex 
invest  Oxford,"  said  my  Father,  "  but  he  is  a  sub- 
ordinate, and  Lord  Essex  a  veteran ;  and  Mr. 
Hami^den,  1  trow,  deems  military  obedience  the 
best  example  he  can  give  an  army  scarce  six  months 
recruited  from  the  shop  or  the  plough." 

"  And  meantime,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  I  warrant 
Prince  Rupert  is  active  enough.  There  is  no  end 
to  the  tales  of  his  devastations,  seizing  whole  teams 
from  the  plough,  setting  fire  to  quiet  villages  at 
midnight,  with  I  know  not  what  iniquities  besides, 
and  carrying  home  the  spoil  from  tAventy  miles 
around  to  the  king's  quarters  at  Oxford.  If  Lord 
Essex  does  not  want  to  fight  the  king,  why  does 
not  he  submit  to  him  ?  Keeping  twenty-four  thou- 
sand men  armed  and  fed  at  the  public  expense,  and 
doing  nothing,  is  neither  peace  nor  war  to  my 
mind  I" 

"  True,  sister  Dorothy,"  said  my  Father,  "  I  know 
of  no  method  by  which  war  can  be  carried  on  in  a 
friendly  way.  And  when  Lord  Essex  has  come  to 
the  same  conclusion,  perhaps  things  will  go  a  little 
faster." 

"  Will  they  ever,  under  Lord  Essex  ?"  said  she. 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  he.  "  We  have  scarcely 
found  our  Great  Gustavus  yet." 

"  Colonel  Cromwell  has  been  doing  something 
better  than  dreaming  what  to  do,  at  Cambridge, 
since  he  saved  the  magazine  there  and  £2,000  of 
plate  for  the  Parliament  last   June,"   said  Aunt 


324 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


Dorothy.  "Troops  are  pouring  up  to  him  from 
Essex  and  Suffolk,  and  all  around,  they  say ;  and 
Cambridge  is  being  fortified;  and  they  say  it  is 
owing  to  Colonel  Cromwell  we  are  so  quiet  in  these 
seven  counties." 

"  Colonel  Cromwell  has  a  rare  gift  of  sifting  the 
chaff  from  the  wheat ;  finding  out  who  can  do  the 
work  and  setting  them  to  do  it,"  said  my  Father, 
thoughtfully. 

"  So  strict  with  his  soldiers  too,"  said  Aunt  Doro- 
thy. "  They  say  the  men  are  fined  twelve  pence  if 
they  swear  a  profane  oath." 

"  Then,"  said  my  Father,  "  he  is  doing  what  he 
told  his  cousin  Mr.  Hampden  must  be  done,  if  ever 
the  Parliament  army  is  to  match  the  king's." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  she. 

"  Getting  men  of  religion,"  my  Father  replied, 
*'  to  fight  the  men  of  birth.  Tou  will  never  do  it," 
said  Colonel  Cromwell,  "  with  tapsters  and  'prentice 
lads.  Match  the  enthusiasm  of  loyalty  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  piety  !" 

"  It  is  strange,"  rejoined  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  that 
Mr.  Cromwell  never  discovered  his  right  profession 
before.  A  farmer  till  forty-three,  and  then  all  at 
once  to  find  out  he  was  made  for  a  soldier  !" 

"  What  can  make  or  find  out  soldiers  but  wars, 
sister  Dorothy  ?"  said  my  Father.  "  Moreover,  I 
warrant  Colonel  Cromwell  has  known  what  it  is  to 
wage  other  kinds  of  war  before  this.  It  is  only 
taking  up  new  weapons.  It  is  only  the  same  con- 
flict for  the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor,  in 
which  he  contended  for  those  of  the  Fen  country 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  325 

against  Royal  assumption,  and  for  tlie  poor  men  of 
Somersham  against  the  courtiers  who  would  have 
ousted  them  from  their  ancient  common-rights ;  or 
for  the  gospel  lecturers  whom  Archbishop  Laud 
silenced.  The  same  war,  only  a  new  field  and  new 
weapons.  At  any  rate,  I  am  glad  the  lad  Roger  is 
to  serve  under  him ;  and  so  you  may  tell  him  when 
he  gets  his  liberty  and  comes  home,  as  I  trust  he 
will  in  a  fortnight." 

This  was  said  as  my  Father  was  taking  an  early 
breakfast  alone  with  us  in  the  Hall,  with  his  horse 
saddled  at  the  door,  ready  to  take  him  back  to  the 
Lord  General's  quarters. 

Rachel  and  Job  Forster  came  home  before  Roger, 
in  Sir  Walter  Davenant's  wagon,  stored  with  pro- 
visions and  cordials,  and  soft  pillows,  by  Lady  Lucy. 

1  believe  every  one  in  Xetherby  slept  witli  a 
greater  feeling  of  security  on  the  night  after  their 
return.  Poor  3Iargery,  Dickon's  young  w'ife,  said 
it  was  like  the  Ark  coming  back  from  the  Philis- 
tines, regardless  of  the  slur  she  thereby  cast  on  the 
Royalist  army,  in  which  Dickon  fought.  And  yet 
there  was  notliing  very  reassuring  in  Job's  appear- 
ance. He  looked  like  a  gaunt  ghost,  and  stumbled 
into  the  cottage  like  a  tottering  infant,  and  rather 
fell  on  the  bed,  which  had  been  made  up  for  him  in 
the  kitchen,  than  lay  down  on  it,  so  broken  was 
his  strength.  When  the  nciglibours  came  in  after 
a  while,  however,  he  had  a  good  word  to  hearten 
each  of  them.  As  to  Rachel,  she  settled  in  at  once, 
without  more  ado,  to  her  old  ways  and  plans,  doing 
28 


3  26  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

everything  with  the  piiri^ose-like  quietness  which 
so  calms  the  sick. 

Cheered  by  Job's  greetings  to  the  neighbours, 
she  told  me  it  was  not  until  the  place  was  still,  and 
she  was  making  up  the  fire  for  the  night,  that  she 
knew  how  low  his  strength  was.  As  she  took  the 
wood  from  the  pile  he  had  made  for  her  close  to  the 
fire,  she  was  startled,  she  told  me,  by  a  sound  like 
a  stifled  sob  from  where  he  lay. 

"  Art  laid  uneasy  ?"  said  she,  at  his  side  in  an  in- 
stant. "  Does  aught  ail  thee  ?  Is  the  bed  ill-made  ?" 

"  Naught,"  said  he.  "It's  better  than  the  bed 
of  Solomon  to  me,  with  the  pillars  of  silver  and 
the  bottom  of  gold.  But  I  am  like  to  them  that 
dream,  laughing  and  crying  all  in  one.  For  I  used 
to  think  before  thee  come  to  the  gaol,  how  I  should 
never  see  thee  kindle  a  fire  in  the  old  place  again, 
and  how  every  stick  thee  had  to  takke  from  where 
I  laid  it  for  thee  would  go  to  thy  heart  like  a  stab. 
And  it  shamed  me  not  to  have  made  a  better  shot 
at  the  Lord's  meaning  for  thee  and  me." 

"  How  could  thee  tell  His  meaning,"  said  Rachel, 
"  before  He  told  thee  ?  He  gave  thee  no  promise 
to  bring  thee  out  of  prison,  nor  me." 

"  Nay,"  said  Job,  "  but  it's  making  very  bold 
with  Him,  and  making  fools  of  ourselves,  to  guess 
at  His  words  when  they're  half  spoken,  instead  of 
waiting  to  hear  them  out.  And  it  grieves  me  I 
should  have  suspected  Him  when  He  was  meaning 
us  so  well.  Read  me  what  the  Scripture  saith  about 
the  forgiveness  of  sins." 

"But,  Mistress  Olive,"  concluded  Rachel,  when 


THE  DA  VEN-ANTS, 


3*7 


slie  told  me  this  little  history,  "  when  Elijah,  worn 
out  with  trouble,  misunderstod  the  Lord,  the  angel 
comforted  him,  not  with  a  text,  but  with  a  cake 
baken  on  the  coals ;  so,  when  Job  took  to  misun- 
derstanding the  Almighty  like  that,  thinking  He 
would  be  angered  with  what  would  not  have  fretted 
one  of  the  likes  of  us  poor  hasty  creatures,  instead 
of  the  Bible  I  gave  him  a  good  cup  of  strong  broth, 
I  knew  it  was  the  body,  poor  soul,  and  not  the 
spirit  that  was  to  blame,  and  that  all  those  brave 
words  he  spoke  to  the  neighbours  had  cost  more 
than  they  were  worth ;  and,  of  course,  I  was  not 
going  to  profane  the  Holy  Word  by  using  it  like 
the  spell  in  a  witch's  charm." 

So  for  several  days  she  kept  every  creature  out  of 
the  cottage,  which  deprived  me  of  her  counsel  in  a 
moment  of  difficulty,  which  happened  the  week  of 
their  return. 

Lord  Capel's  troops  continued  to  hover  round, 
and  to  keep  the  district  in  a  state  of  suspense  and 
alarm,  ripe  for  any  marvellous  stories  of  horror,  or 
for  any  acts  of  terrified  revenge.  For  in  storm/ 
times  there  are  sure  to  be  some  cowardly  spirits 
ready  to  throw  any  helpless  victim  as  an  expiatory 
sacrifice  to  the  powers  of  evil. 

One  Saturday  evening,  late  in  February,  I  was 
returning  home  through  the  village  from  Gammer 
Grindle's  cottage,  which  I  had  very  often  visited 
since  poor  Tim's  death.  The  old  woman  had  seem- 
ed gentler  in  her  way  of  speaking  of  her  neighbours, 
and  once  or  twice  had  betrayed  her  pleasure  in  see- 
ing me  by  speaking  sharply  to  me  if  I  stayed  away 


328 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


longer  than  usual,  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  her  own 
lost  grandchildren. 

I  had  made  rather  a  long  circuit  in  returning,  not 
liking  to  try  the  high  road  again,  because,  in  going, 
I  had  encountered  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  king's 
troopers,  and  as  I  was  hurrying  past  them,  they 
complimented  me  in  a  way  I  did  not  like,  and  came 
after  me.  I  recognized  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor's 
voice  among  them,  and  then  I  turned  round  and 
spoke  to  him,  and  begged  him  to  call  his  men  away. 
Which,  when  he  recognized  me,  he  did ;  but  not 
without  some  more  idle  Cavalier  jesting,  which  set 
my  heart  beating,  and  made  me  resolve  to  come 
back  by  a  quiet  path  through  the  Davenant  woods, 
which  led  round  through  the  village  by  Job  Fors- 
ter's. 

Poor  old  Gammer  was  very  friendly.  I  suppose 
I  was  trembling  a  little,  though  I  did  not  tell  her 
why,  for  she  declared  I  was  chattering  with  cold, 
and  would  have  me  drink  a  hot  cup  of  peppermint 
water,  and  kindled  up  the  fire,  and  took  off  my 
shoes,  which  were  wet,  and  dried  them,  wi*apping 
up  my  feet,  meanwhile,  in  her  own  best  woolsey 
whimple.  Indeed,  she  was  so  gracious  and  ap- 
proachable, that  I  ventured  to  say  something  about 
the  benefit  of  coming  to  church,  and  mingling  a 
little  more  with  her  neighbours. 

"  Too  late,  too  late  for  that !  "  said  she,  firing  uj). 
"  This  twenty  year,  come  Lammas,  my  Joan,  Cice- 
ly's mother,  was  buried,  she  and  her  man,  Cicely's 
father,  in  one  grave.  And  the  parson  would  do 
nothing  without  his  fee.     So  I  sold  the  cover  from 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


329 


my  feed  to  pay  him.    And  I  vowed  I'd  never  darken 
his  church-door  again." 

"  But  that  parson  is  dead,  Gammer,"  said  I,  "  and 
it  was  not  his  church  after  all." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  she.  "  But  a  vow  is  a  vow. 
Besides,  I  could  never  bear  the  folks'  eyes  si^eiring 
at  me.  I'm  ugly,  and  lone,  and  poor,  and  they 
make  mouths  at  me,  and  call  me  an  old  hag  and  a 
witch.  But  it's  only  natural.  All  the  brood  will 
peck  at  the  lame  chick.  All  the  herd  will  leave  the 
stricken  deer.  Didn't  all  the  village  hoot  and  jeer 
at  my  poor,  tender,  innocent  Tim  ?  " 

And  then  she  poured  forth  the  story  of  her  life  of 
sorrow  as  I  had  never  heard  it  before.  A  heart 
trained  to  distrust  and  suspect  through  a  childhood 
of  bondage  under  the  petty  tyrannies  of  a  step- 
mother and  her  children.  One  year  of  happy  mar- 
ried life,  ending  in  a  sudden  widowhood,  which 
widowed  her  heart  also  of  all  its  remnant  of  hope 
in  God,  and  left  her  to  struggle  prayerless  and  alone 
with  a  hard  world,  for  bread  for  herself  and  her  or- 
phan babe.  The  growing  up  of  this  child  to  be  a 
stay  and  comfort,  and,  for  three  years,  a  second 
home  with  her  when  she  married.  This  second 
home  broken  up  as  suddenly  as  the  first,  by  the 
death  of  the  daughter  and  her  husband  in  one  month, 
from  a  catching  sickness,  leaving  the  grandmother 
once  more  alone  to  toil  with  enfeebled  strength  for 
two  orphan  babes ;  the  boy,  poor,  faithful  Tim,  half- 
witted and  sickly ;  the  girl.  Cicely,  wilful  and  high- 
spirited,  and  the  beauty  of  the  village.  Then  the 
terrible  morning  when  Cicely  was  gone,  and  no  ac» 
28* 


33° 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


count  could  be  got  of  her  beyond  Tim's  eonfused 
and  exulting  statement,  that  Cicely  had  cried,  and 
laughed,  and  kissed  him,  and  told  hira  to  wish  grand- 
mother good-bye  for  her,  and  she  would  come  back 
a  lady  and  bring  Tim  a  gun  like  Master  Roger's  ; 
to  Gammer  Grindle  tidings  worse  than  bereavement 
or  all  the  misery  she  had  known,  for  she  came  of  a 
truly  honourable  yeoman's  house  that  had  never 
known  sliame.  Tim,  however,  could  never  be 
brought  to  look  on  his  sister's  disappearance  in  any 
but  the  most  cheerful  light,  and  would  watch  for 
hours  at  the  corner  of  the  j^ath  leading  to  the  village 
for  Cicely  and  the  "  gun  like  Master  Roger's,"  until, 
as  time  passed  on,  the  expectation  seemed  to  fade 
away,  only  to  be  awakened  once  again  by  the  mys- 
terious touch  of  death.  And  since  then  not  a  word 
of  the  poor  lost  girl.  Tim  in  the  grave,  and  the 
vain  longing  that  Cicely  were  there  too.  And  all 
the  little  world  around  her,  as  she  believed,  leagued 
against  her  crushed  but  unconqucrcd  heart.  She 
ended  with, — 

"But  it's  but  naturah  When  the  lightnings 
have  rent  the  trunk  the  winds  soon  snap  the  boughs. 
They  say  the  devil  stands  by  me.  If  he  did  no  one 
need  wish  him  for  a  friend.  They  say  the  Almigh- 
ty is  against  me.  And  most  times  I  think  belike 
He  is.'' 

Then  Aunt  Gretel's  words  came  back  to  me, 
'^  Anywhere  but  there.  Put  the  darkness  anyxvhere  but 
there  ;"  and  I  said, — 

"Never,  Gammer,  never.  The  devil  said  that 
thousands  of  years  ago;  but  the  Lord  Christ  came 


THE  DA  V EN- A  NTS. 


331 


tc  show  what  a  lie  it  was.  He  stood  by  the  strick- 
en and  wounded  always.  The  lame  and  the  blind 
came  to  Him  in  the  temple,  and  he  healed  them." 

She  listened  as  if  she  half  believed,  and  then,  after 
a  silence,  she  said, — 

"  The  devil  is  no  easy  enemy  to  deal  with,  mis- 
tress, but  if  I  could  be  sure  it  was  only  him,  maybe 
I  might  look  up  and  try  again." 

At  last  she  was  persuaded  so  far  as  to  let  me  say 
I  might  call  for  her  the  next  Sunday  on  my  way  to 
church.  "  It  was  as  like  as  not  she  would  not 
go,  but  at  any  rate  it  would  do  her  no  harm  to  see 
me." 

And  as  T  left  I  heard  something  like  a  blessing 
follow  me,  and  I  saw  the  poor,  bent  old  figure  lean- 
ing out  of  the  door  and  watching  me. 

But  when  I  came  back  to  Netherby  I  found 
the  whole  village  at  the  doors  in  a  ferment  of  eager 
talk. 

I  thought  at  once  of  Sir  Launcelot  and  the  troop- 
ers, and  asked  if  there  had  been  another  battle.     ' 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  woman  I  spoke  to,  "  it's 
naught  but  folks  going  to  reap  their  deserts  at 
last." 

Then  came  a  chorus  of  grievances. 

"  Three  of  Farmer  White's  finest  milch  kine  gone 
in  one  night !"  "  Goodwife  Joyce's  best  black  hen 
killed,  and  not  a  feather  touched ;  no  mortal  fox's 
work  it  was  too  plain  to  see  !"  "  The  dogs  yelling 
as  if  they  were  possessed,  as  belike  they  were,  on 
Saturday  evening,  seeing  no  doubt  more  than  they 
could  tell,  poor  beasts,  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 


332 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


air!"  "Lord  Essex  and  his  army  lying  spell- 
bound, able  to  do  nothing,  while  the  Prince  Robber 
was  plundering  the  land  for  and  wide  !  "  "  Job  and 
Master  Roger,  the  best  in  the  village,  the  first 
stricken;  too  clear  where  the  blows  came  from!" 
"  And  to-day  the  squire's  own  cattle  driven  oflf  the 
meadow,  with  Mistress  Nich oil's,  by  a  troop  of 
plunderers,  who  came  no  one  knew  whence,  and 
had  gone  no  one  knew  whither!  "  "And  finally, 
Tony  Tomkin  had  been  pursued  by  a  headless 
hound  through  the  Davenant  woods,  where  he  had 
only  gone  to  take  a  rabbit  or  two  he  had  snared, 
and  thought  no  harm,  the  family  being  away  and 
fighting  against  the  country  !  "  "  And,"  but  this 
was  muttered  under  the  breath,  "  there  ivere  those 
who  said  they  had  seen  something  that  was  not 
smoke  come  out  of  Gammer  Grindle's  chimney — 
something  that  flew  away  over  the  fens  faster  than 
any  bird.  And  this  was  only  on  last  Saturday 
night,  and  every  one  knew  that  Saturday  was  the 
day  of  the  witches'  Sabbath  ever  since  the  Jews 
had  brought  the  innocent  blood  on  their  heads  !  " 

Then  suddenly  it  flashed  on  me  what  it  all  meant. 
They  were  going  to  execute  some  dreadful  ven- 
geance on  Gammer  Grindle,  believing  her  to  be  one 
of  the  witches  who  were  causing  all  the  mischief  in 
the  land. 

It  was  no  use  to  set  myself  against  the  torrent  of 
fear  and  rage,  so  I  said  as  quietly  as  I  could, — 

"  What  are  they  going  to  do,  and  when  ?" 

"  First,"  was  the  reply,  "  they're  going  to  duck 
her  in  the  Mere  before  her  own  door.     If  she  siiiks 


TEE  DA  VENANTS. 


333 


they  mil  pull  her  out  if  they  can,  as  it  mayn't  be 
her  doings  after  all.  If  she  swims  she's  a  witch, 
clear  and  plain." 

"  And  what  then  ?"  I  said. 

"  Nothing  too  bad,  Mistress  Olive,  for  the  like  of 
them.  But  the  lads  '11  see  when  it  comes  to  the 
point.  It  isn't  often  their  master  helps  the  wretch- 
es out  at  last,  they  say.  And  if  she  don't  sink 
natural,  as  a  Christian  ought,  belike  the  lads  '11 
make  her." 

"  When  did  they  go  to  do  this  ?"  I  asked, 

"They're  but  just  off,"  was  the  answer.  "But 
they'll  make  short  work  of  it,  never  fear.  It's 
time  a  stop  could  be  put  to  such  things,  if  ever  it 
was." 

"If  Rachel  and  Job  had  been  among  you  this 
would  never  have  been,"  I  thought,  I  longed  to 
have  consulted  Rachel,  had  it  been  possible.  But 
there  was  no  time  to  hesitate. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  rush  after  the  cruel  boys ; 
but  I  felt  that  in  the  maddened  state  of  terror  in 
which  the  village  was,  they  would  most  probably 
keep  me  back.  So,  without  saying  a  word  or  visi- 
bly quickening  my  pace,  I  walked  quietly  on  to- 
wards home. 

In  the  porch  I  found  Aunt  Gretel.  She  was 
watching  for  me. 

I  took  her  arm,  not  violently,  I  was  so  afraid  of 
frightening  her  from  doing  what  I  had  determined 
vhohX,  be  done.     And  I  said  quite  quietly, — 

"Aunt  Gretel,  we  must  go  together  this  instant 
to  Grammer  Grindle's." 


334 


THE  JDRATT0N8  AND 


"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  will  tell  you  as  we  go,"  I  said.  "  There  is  no 
time  to  be  lost." 

She  came  with  me.  I  turned  into  the  path  by 
the  meadows. 

"  Not  this  way,  Olive,"  she  said.  "  The  plunder- 
ers have  been  there  to-day.  Your  Father's  best 
cattle  are  taken,  and  Placidia's." 

"  If  the  cattle  are  gone,  then  belike  so  are  the 
plunderers,"  I  said.  "  But  if  the  king's  whole  army 
were  there  we  must  take  the  shortest  way." 

And  I  told  her  the  whole  story. 

She  said  nothing  but, — 

"  Then  the  good  God  guard  us,  sweetheart,  and 
don't  waste  your  breath  in  words." 

We  went  quickly  on. 

Only  once  I  thought  I  heard  shouts,  and  I  said, — 

"Aunt  Gretel,  what  do  they  do  with  witches  at 
the  worst  ?" 

"  They  have  roasted  them  alive,"  she  said,  under 
her  breath.     And  we  said  no  more. 

As  we  came  to  the  creek  of  the  Mere,  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  which  the  cottage  was,  we  heard  yells 
and  shouts  too  plainly  borne  across  the  water  in  the 
stillness  of  the  evening,  unbroken  by  the  lowing  of 
the  stolen  cattle  which  had  been  feeding  there  that 
morning.  And  in  another  moment  we  saw  the  re- 
flection of  torches  gleaming  in  the  water,  as  wo 
stumbled  along  in  the  dusk  among  the  reeds.  I 
listened  eagerly  for  poor  old  Gammer's  voice.  But 
I  heard  nothing.  Indeed,  my  own  heart  began  to 
beat  so  fast,  I  could  hear  Uttle  but  that.     Until, 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


335 


just  as  we  reached  the  cottage,^here  was  a  dull 
splash,  and  then  a  silence.  It  was  followed  by  a 
low  moan,  but  by  no  cry.  They  were  drowning 
the  poor  old  woman,  and  the  brave  broken  heart 
would  vouchsafe  them  the  triumph  of  no  entreaty 
for  mercy  and  no  cry  of  distress  !  I  knew  it  as  if  I 
saw  it.  And  the  next  moment  I  had  flown  along 
the  shore  and  was  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  on  the 
brink  of  the  water,  clinging  with  one  hand  round 
the  stem  of  an  alder,  and  stretching  out  the  other 
till  it  grasped  the  poor  shrivelled  hands  which  had 
caught  at  the  branches  which  drooped  over  the 
water. 

"  Cling  to  me,  Gammer ! — to  me,  Olive  Drayton ! 
I  am  holding  fast — cling  to  me  !" 

I  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  desperate  tenacity 
of  the  grasp  which  returned  mine.  I  never  felt  till 
that  moment  what  it  means  to  cling  to  Life.  My 
other  arm  held  firm,  but  the  bank  was  oozy  and 
slippery,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  losing  my  power, 
when  at  that  instant  Aunt  Gretel  came  and  knelt 
beside  me,  and  clutching  Gammer  Grindle's  dress, 
between  us  we  dragged  her  to  land. 

Then  the  second  part  of  the  Avork  of  rescue  began, 
and  the  hardest. 

The  men,  or  rather  lads  (for  they  were  few  of 
them  more),  who  formed  the  crowd,  had  been  start- 
led into  inaction  by  our  sudden  appearance  among 
them ;  biat  now  they  began  to  mutter  angrily,  and 
would  have  pushed  us  rudely  away,  saying  "  it  was 
no  matter  for  women  to  meddle  in.  They  had  not 
come  there  for  nothing,  and  they  would  have  it  out. 


536  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

The  whole  country-side  should  not  be  laid  waste  to 
save  one  wicked  old  witch,  that  no  one  had  a  good 
word  to  say  for." 

By  this  time  Gammer  Grindle  had  recovered  so 
far  as  to  rise  out  of  that  mere  instinct  of  self-preser- 
vation with  which  she  had  desperately  clung  to  me. 
And  disengaging  herself  from  me,  she  said,  stand- 
ing erect  and  facing  her  assailants, — 

"  Let  me  alone,  Mistress  Olive.  They  say  right. 
They  are  all  gone  who  would  have  said  a  good 
word  for  me.     Let  me  go  to  them." 

Two  of  the  men  seized  her  again. 

"  Confess  !"  said  one  of  them,  shaking  her  rudely ; 
"  confess,  and  we'll  leave  you  to  the  justices.  If 
not  you  shall  try  the  water  once  more  to  sink  or 
swim." 

And  they  dragged  her  again  to  the  brink.  The 
touch  of  the  cold  oozing  water  made  the  horror  and 
weakness  come  over  her  again.  Her  courage  for- 
sook her,  and  she  cried  like  the  feeble  old  woman 
she  was, — 

"  Have  pity  on  me,  neighbours.  I'll  confess  any- 
thing, if  you'll  leave  me  alone — anything  I  can. 
I've  been  a  sinful  old  woman,  and  the  Lord's  against 
me ;  the  Lord's  against  me !" 

"  Hear  her,  mistress,"  said  the  men  with  a  cry  of 
triumph ;  "  she'll  confess  anything.  She  says  the 
Almighty's  against  her.  It  isn't  fit  such  should 
live." 

They  were  forcing  her  on ;  her  poor,  patched, 
thin  garments  tore  in  my  hands  as  I  clung  to  them. 
Aunt  Gretel,  driven  to  the  end  of  her  English,  as 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


337 


usual  with  her  in  strong  emotion,  was  pouring  forth 
entreaties  and  prayers  in  German,  when  I  caught 
sight  of  a  Netherby  lad  well  known  as  the  pest  of 
the  village,  and  the  ringleader  in  all  mischief.  He 
was  carrying  a  torch.  I  caught  his  arm  and  looked 
in  his  face. 

"  Tony  Tomkin,"  I  said,  "  Squii-e  Drayton  shall 
know  of  this,  and  it  shall  not  be  unpunished.  It  is 
your  wickedness,  and  such  as  your's,  that  brings  the 
trouble  on  us  all,  and  not  Gammer  Grindle's.  God 
is  angry  with  yoii^  Tony,  for  breaking  your  little 
brother's  head,  and  idling  away  your  time,  while 
your  2)oor  mother  toils  her  life  away  to  get  you 
bread.  You  will  not  give  up  your  hearts  to  be  good 
like  brave  men,  which  is  the  only  sacrifice  God  will 
have  ;  and  instead,  like  a  pack  of  cowards,  you  are 
sacrificing  a  poor  helpless  old  woman  to  the  devil. 
Isn't  there  one  man  here  with  the  heart  of  a  man  in 
him  ?  What  harm  can  the  devil  do  you,  much  less 
a  witch,  if  you  please  God  ?  And  which  of  you 
thinks  God  will  be  pleased  by  a  troop  of  you  slink- 
ing here  in  the  dark  to  murder  a  helpless  old  woman 
at  her  own  door  ?  Can  none  of  you  lads  of  Nether- 
by  remember  poor  Tim,  and  how  he  died  for  Master 
Roger,  and  how  good  she  was  to  him  ?  Or  can't 
you  trust  Squire  Drayton  to  do  justice,  and  leave 
her  to  him  ?" 

Tony  let  his  torch  fall  and  slunk  back.  Then  two 
Netherby  men  came  forward  and  said, — 

"  She's  right ;  Mistress  Olive  is  right !  Squire 
Drayton  '11  see  justice  done," 

Two  or  three  others  jomed  them.  The  cry  arose, 
29 


338  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

"No  one  shall  touch  the  old  woman  to-night,  as 
long  as  there's  any  Netherby  lads  to  hinder  it." 

A  scuffle  ensued,  during  which  Aunt  Gretel  and 
I  got  hold  of  Gammer  Grindle  once  more,  and  led 
her  back  into  the  cottage. 

Once  there,  we  barricaded  the  door  with  the  logs 
and  fagots  which  formed  Gammer's  store  of  fire- 
wood, and  felt  safe. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  angry  voices  had  quite 
died  away  in  the  distance,  and  we  heard  again  the 
quiet  plashing  of  the  water  among  the  rushes,  that 
we  could  quiet  the  poor  old  woman  so  that  she 
would  let  go  her  clasp  of  our  hands.  Then  she  let 
us  kindle  a  fire,  and  wrap  her  in  warm  dry  things. 

We  wanted  to  lay  her  in  a  clean  comfortable  bed 
which  was  made  in  the  corner  of  the  hut.  But  this 
she  would  not  sufier.  "  It  is  Cicely's,"  she  said. 
"  It's  not  for  me."  So  we  had  to  pack  her  up  as 
comfortably  as  we  could  upon  the  heap  of  straw 
and  rags  laid  on  an  old  chest,  which  was  her  bed. 

There  she  lay  quite  still  for  a  long  time,  while 
Aunt  Gretel  and  I  sat  silent  by  the  fire,  hoping  she 
would  sleep. 

But  in  about  an  hour  she  said,  in  a  quiet  voice— 

"  Take  away  those  logs  from  the  door." 

I  went  to  her  bedside. 

"  In  the  morning,  Gammer,"  I  said,  "  when  it  is 
qiiite  safe." 

"  This  moment !"  said  she,  starting  xip  any  trying 
to  walk.  But  the  terrors  of  the  night  had  made 
her  so  faint  and  feeble,  that  she  fell  helplessly  back. 

"  This  moment,  Mistress  Olive .'"  she  repeated,  in 


TEH  DA  VENANTS.  j  ^  g 

a  faint  queruloiis  voice,  very  unlike  her  usual  sharp 
firm  tones — "  this  moment !  The  poor  maid  might 
come  and  try  the  door,  and  go  away,  and  never 
come  again.  I've  been  sharp  with  her,  I  know, 
and  she  might  be  afraid,  not  knowing,  poor  lamb, 
how  I  watch  for  her." 

Aunt  Gretel  went  to  the  door  and  began  to  un- 
pile  the  logs. 

"  God  will  care  for  us,  Olive,"  said  she  with  a 
faltering  voice.  "  He  will  know  and  care ;  He  who 
never  closes  the  door  against  us." 

And  gently  we  withdrew  the  logs  which  fonned 
our  protection. 

"  Set  the  light  in  the  window,"  Gammer  said. 

By  the  window  she  meant  a  rough  crevice  in  the 
wall,  with  a  canvas  curtain  hung  before  it. 

Aunt  Gretel  ventured  a  little  remonstrance. 

"  Hardly  that  to-night,"  said  she.  "  It  might 
guide  any  evil-disposed  people  here." 

"  It  will  guide  Iter,  and  what  does  it  matter  for 
anything  else  ?"  said  Gammer  Grindle,  almost 
fiercely,  "  She  knew  there  Avas  always  a  lio-ht 
burning,  and  if  she  saw  none,  she  might  think  I 
was  dead,  and  turn  away." 

And  the  lamp  was  placed  in  the  window. 

Then  another  long  sjlence,  broken  again  by 
Gammer. 

"  What'll  they  think's  come  to  you,  my  mis- 
tresses? What  a  selfish  old  woman  I've  been. 
Why  didn't  I  let  them  do  for  me,  and  be  quiet.  I 
never  knew  before  what  fear  was.  I've  wished  to 
die  scores  of  times ;  but  when  death  came  near,  I 


34° 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


clung  to  life  like  a  drowning  dog  or  cat,  and  never 
cared  who  I  pulled  in  to  save  myself.  I  never 
thought  I  should  live  to  be  such  a  pitiful  old  cow- 
ard. But  the  Lord's  against  me,"  she  cried,  going 
back  to  her  old  wail — "the  Lord's  against  me. 
Everybody  says  so,  and  it  must  be  true.  He  not 
only  loaves  me  to  be  drowned;  He  leaves  me  also 
to  be  as  selfish  and  wicked  as  I  will.  The  Lord's 
against  me.  Why  did  you  try  to  save  me  ?  I  must 
fall  into  His  hands  at  last !" 

This  was  exactly  Avhat  Aunt  Gretel  never  could 
hear  with  patience. 

"  You  are  a  little  better  than  those  bad  men,  my 
dear  woman,"  said  she.  "  You,  none  of  you,  can 
see  the  difference  between  the  good  God  and  the 
devil.  You  talk  of  falling  into  His  hands,  as  if  His 
arms  were  hell.  And  all  the  while  He  is  stretching 
out  His  arms  that  you  may  fall  on  His  heart.  You 
slander,  grandmother,  you  slander  God  !"  she  added. 

"  He  is  not  against  you ;  you  are  against  Him." 

"  Much  the  same  in  the  end,"  moaned  poor  Gam- 
mer, "  if  we're  going  against  each  other." 

"  It  is  not  the  same,"  said  Aunt  Gretel.  "  You 
can  turn  and  go  with  Him,  and  He  will  not  have  to 
drive  you  home.  You  can  bow  under  his  yoke,  and 
you  will  not  feel  it  heavy.  You  can  bow  under 
His  rod,  and  you  will  find  it  comfort  you  as  much 
as  His  stafi*." 

"  Not  so  easy,  mistress,"  said  Gammer,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  have  turned  from  Him  so  long,  how  caa 
I  know  if  I  should  have  a  welcome  ?" 

"  That  is  Avhat  Cicely  is  waiting  for.  Gammer," 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


341 


I  wliispercd,  kneeling  down  beside.  "  But  the  door 
is  open  and  the  light  is  burning  for  her.  If  she 
could  only  know !  if  she  could  only  have  a  glimpse 
inside  /" 

"  If  she  could  only  know !"  murmured  the  poor 
old  woman,  her  eyes  moistening  as  she  turned  from 
the  thought  of  her  own  sorrows  to  those  of  her  lost 
child. 

And  she  said  no  more.  But  there  was  something 
in  the  quiet  of  her  face  which  made  me  hope  that 
she  herself  had  got  a  "  glimpse  inside." 

And  soon  afterwards  she  fell  asleep. 

Aunt  Gretel  and  I  were  left  to  our  watch.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  when  we  ceased  to  watch  for  sleep 
to  come  over  the  poor  exhausted  aged  frame,  I  be- 
gan to  watch  the  noises  outside,  and  feel  a  creeping 
horror  as  I  listened  to  the  slow  cold  plashing  of 
the  water  among  the  rushes,  and  the  soughing,  and 
wailing,  and  whistling  of  the  wind  among  the 
leafless  boughs  of  the  wood  behind  us.  Thei-e  was 
one  gnarled  old  oak  especially,  just  outside  the 
house,  whose  dry  boughs  creaked  in  the  wind  as  if 
they  had  been  dead  beams  instead  of  living  branches. 

Often  I  thought  I  heard  long  sighs  and  wailings 
as  of  human  voices,  and  with  difiicTTlty  persuaded 
myself  that  it  was  fancy.  But  at  last  there  came 
sounds  which  could  not  be  mistaken — low  whistles, 
and  short,  peculiar  cries,  responded  to  by  others,  un- 
til we  became  sure  that  a  number  of  men  must  be 
moving  about  in  the  darkness  around  us.  At  first 
Aunt  Gretel  and  I  thought  it  must  be  the  witch- 


34* 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


finders  come  again  for  Gammer  Grindle,  and  very 
softly  we  replaced  the  logs  to  barricade  the  door. 

But  other  sounds  began  to  mingle  with  those  of 
human  voices,  like  the  lowings  of  cattle  forcibly 
driven.  Suddenly  I  remembered  my  encounter  that 
very  morning  with  the  royal  troopers,  which,  with 
all  that  happened  since,  seemed  weeks  distant. 

"  It  is  Sir  Launcelot  and  the  plunderers !"  I  ex- 
claimed, 

"  That  accounts  for  their  not  sending  after  us," 
said  Aunt  Gretel.  "  They  have  tried  to  reach  us, 
no  doubt,  and  cannot." 

And  we  listened  again. 

Then  came  something  like  a  soft  knock  and  a  low 
cry,  which  seemed  close  to  the  door,  and  a  heavy 
thud  as  of  something  falling.  But,  though  we 
listened  breathlessly,  no  second  sound  came  ;  and 
the  old  stories  of  supernatural  horrors  haunting  the 
place  crept  back  to  us,  and  kept  us  motionless. 

By  this  time  the  dawn  was  slowly  creeping  in, 
and  making  the  lamp  in  the  window  red  and  dim. 

We  sat  crouching  close  together  by  the  embers 
of  the  dying  fire,  and  took  eack  others'  hands,  and 
istened. 

The  voices  came  nearer,  till  we  could  plainly  dis- 
tinguish them,  and  with  them  the  sound  of  tramp- 
ling feet  of  men  and  horses,  and  then  of  men 
springing  from  the  saddle  and  approaching  the 
hut. 

"  It's  the  old  witch's  den,"  a  gruff  voice  said ; 
"  she's  burning  a  candle  to  the  devil.  No  one  ever 
got  good  by  going  near  her." 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  3^3 

Then  a  laugh,  and  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor's  mocking 
voice, — 

"  One  would  think  you  were  a  Roundhead,  from 
the  respect  with  which  you  mention  the  old  enemy's 
name.  At  all  events,  witches  don't  live,  like  saints, 
on  air  and  prayers.  We'll  get  some  warmth  and 
comfort  this  bitter  night  out  of  the  old  hag's  stores. 
Some  sack  or  malmsey,  perchance,  and  a  fat  capon 
or  two  bewitched  from  good  men's  cellars  and 
larders.  Stay  here,  if  you  are  afraid.  And  I  will 
storm  this  witch's  castle  for  you."  And  his  long 
heavy  stride  approached  the  door.  We  sat  with 
beating  hearts,  expecting  the  rickety  door  to  be 
shaken  or  forced  in  by  a  strong  hand.  But  instead, 
the  steps  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  intruder  seemed 
to  start  back  as  if  struck  by  an  invisible  hand  on 
the  threshold. 

Then  there  was  an  exclamation  of  amazement 
and  horror,  ending  in  a  fearful  oath  in  a  low  deep 
tone,  very  different  from  Sir  Launcclot's  usual 
bravado.  Afterwards  a  few  hasty  retreating  steps, 
and  as  he  rejoined  his  men,  some  words  in  the  old 
light  tone,  but  hurried  and  wild  as  of  one  overact- 
ing his  part. 

"•Belike  you  are  right,  lads.  Black  art  or  white, 
better  keep  to  beer  of  mortal  brewing  than  seize 
anything  from  a  witch's  caldron,  or  touch  anythino- 
of  a  witch's  brood.  Besides,  the  country  will  be 
awake,  and  it's  as  well  we  were  in  safe  quarters 
with  the  booty.  Steady,  and  look  out  lor  pitfalls 
in  this  cursed  place," 

After  which  there  was  a  splashing  of  horses'  feet 


344 


THE  BRAYTONS  AND 


on  the  reedy  margin  of  the  Mere.  Then  a  heavy 
trampling  as  they  reached  firmer  ground,  succeeded 
by  a  sharp  gallop  across  the  meadow,  until  every 
sound  was  lost  in  the  distance,  and  we  were  left  in 
the  silence  to  listen  once  more  to  the  cold  plashing 
of  the  water  among  tlic  rushes,  and  to  the  breath- 
ing of  poor  old  Gammer  in  her  heavy  sleep,  as  we 
watched  the  slow  breaking  of  the  morning. 

We  had  not  sat  half  an  hour  after  the  last  tramp 
of  the  horsemen  had  died  aAvay,  when  we  heard  a 
faint  sound  as  of  something  stirring  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

Aunt  Gretel  laid  her  hand  on  mine. 

"  What  made  Sir  Launcelot  turn  back,  Olive  ?" 
she  whispered.  "He  is  scarcely  a  man  likely  to 
dream  dreams  or  see  visions." 

By  one  impulse  we  softly  removed  the  logs  with 
which  we  had  barricaded  the  door,  and  opened  it. 

There  was  a  rude  porch  outside  to  keep  ofl"  the 
beat  of  the  weather,  and  under  it  a  low  seat  where 
Gammer  used  to  sit  in  summer  and  carry  on  any 
work  that  needed  more  light  than  could  be  had  in 
the  hu^t. 

Across  this  lay  stretched,  in  a  death-like  swoon, 
the  form  of  a  woman.  She  was  half  kneeling,  half 
prostrate,  her  head  towards  the  door,  resting  on  the 
seat,  one  arm  beneath  it,  the  other  fallen  heljiless 
by  her  side,  half  hidden  in  a  heavy  mass  of  long 
hair.  A  puny  little  child  lay  cuddled  up  close  to 
her,  clasping  the  unconscious  form  with  both  arms, 
asleep. 

The  features  were  sharp  as  with  age,  and  pallid 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


345 


as  with  the  touch  of  death,  and  the  long  soft  hair 
was  gray,  but  it  was  still  easy  to  recognise  in  the 
sharp  and  altered  face  what  memories  it  had  brought 
back  to  Sir  Launcelot,  and  why  that  poor  faded 
forni  had  guarded  her  threshold  from  him  better 
than  an  army  of  fiends. 

It  was  the  fiaming  sword  of  conscience  which  had 
guarded  us  that  night. 

Poor  pallid  wasted  face,  so  terrible  in  its  mute 
reproach ! 

We  took  her  up  between  us.  It  was  easy.  She 
was  light  enough  to  carry.  We  laid  her  on  the  old 
bed  which  her  grandmother  had  kept  always  ready 
for  her.  Aunt  Gretel  loosened  her  dress  and  chafed 
her  hands,  while  I  took  the  poor  puny  child  to  the 
fire  to  keep  it  quiet  while  I  made  some  warm  drink 
to  revive  the  mother. 

But  the  poor  sickly  little  one  was  not  easily  to 
be  quieted.  In  sjiite  of  all  my  soothing  it  awoke, 
and  began  wailing  for  mammy.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
the  best  restorative  !  The  shar])  fretful  cry  aroused 
the  mother  from  her  swoon,  and  the  grandmother 
from  her  heavy  sleep. 

In  another  instant  the  old  woman  was  kneeling 
by  the  poor  girl's  bedside,  clasping  and  fondling 
her,  and  calling  her  by  tender,  endearing,  childish 
names,  such  as  no  one  at  Nethcrby  would  have 
dreamed  could  have  poured  forth  from  Gammer 
Grindle's  lips.  The  first  words  Cicely  spoke  when 
she  fully  recovered  consciousness  and  sate  up  (her 
beautiful  large  gray  eyes  gleaming  from  her  faded 


3  46  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

hollow  cheeks  like  living  souls  among  a  pale  troop 
of  ghosts),  were, — 

"  Gammer,  I  heard  him  —  I  heard  his  voice. 
Where  is  he  ?  I  thought  I  saw  his  face.  But  it 
was  dusk,  and  faces  change.  But  voices  will  he 
the  same,  I  think,  even  in  heaven  or  in  hell.  And 
I  heard  his  voice,  the  same  as  when  he  called  me 
darling  and  wife." 

"  Wife  !"  said  the  old  woman,  starting  and  stand- 
ing erect.     "  Say  that  again.  Cicely." 

"  All  in  vain,  Gammer  !"  she  said,  with  a  slow 
hopeless  tone.  "  With  the  priest  and  the  ring ! 
But  it  was  all  false.  He  told  me  so  when  it  was 
too  late.  He  said  I  must  have  known.  But  how 
was  I  to  know,  Gammer  ?  I  trusted  him ;  I  trusted 
him.  Yet,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  have  known  better, 
Gammer  ?  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  wicked  of 
me.     Every  one  seems  to  think  it  was." 

"  Not  me,  sweetheart !"  the  old  woman  cried ; 
"  never  me  !  Thank  God,  my  lamb  comes  back  to  me 
as  pure  as  she  went.  Thank  God,  Cicely  my  darling, 
thank  God,  sweetheart,  and  take  courage.  If  all 
the  cruel  world  hunted  my  lamb  to  death  and  cried 
shame  onr  her,  there's  one  in  the  world  who  knows 
she's  as  pure  as  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever  trod 
the  church  floor  in  her  bride's  white,  with  her  path 
strewn  with  roses."  Then,  taking  the  child  in  her 
arms,  and  cuddling  it  to  her,  she  added,  "  And  thy 
child's  as  much  a  crown  of  joy  to  thee  and  me. 
Cicely,  as  to  any  lady  in  the  land.  Take  courage, 
sweetheart.     What  does  all  the  world  matter,  if 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS.  347 

grandmother  knows;  and  Him  that's  ahove,  dar- 
ling," she  added,  in  a  voice  faltering  again  into  fee- 
bleness, "For  He  is  ahove,  Cicely,  and  He's  not 
against  us,  for  He's  brought  thee  home." 

All  this  time  the  old  woman  and  Cicely  had 
seemed  quite  unconscious  of  our  presence,  as  we  sat 
in  a  shadowed  corner  of  the  dark  old  hut,  keeping 
as  quiet  as  sobs  would  let  us.  But  when  the  poor 
gu-1  was  calmed  by  the  long-forgotten  relief  of  a 
burst  of  tears  on  a  heart  that  trusted  her,  she  look- 
ed up  and  around  with  a  quieter  glance,  and  began 
to  -ask  again  how  it  could  be  that  she  had  heard  the 
voice. 

Then  I  stepped  forward  to  explain. 

She  started,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
as  if  she  would  have  hidden  herself. 

"It's  only  me,  Cicely,  Olive  Drayton,"  I  said,  as 
plainly  as  I  could  for  weeping.  "You've  come 
back  among  those  that  know  you  and  trust  you. 
Cicely." 

Then,  after  giving  her  such  explanation  as  I  could 
of  the  events  of  the  night,  and  after  Aunt  Gretel 
had  made  up  the  fire,  we  bade  them  farewell,  and 
left  the  three  together  to  go  over  the  mournful 
history  that  lay  between  their  meetings;  while 
we  hastened  away  to  assure  those  at  home  of  our 
safety. 

"  What  a  night,  Aunt  Gretsl !"  I  said,  as  we  went. 
'  It  seems  like  a  life-time." 

"  Things  come  often  thus  in  life,"  said  she,  "  as 
far  as  I  have  seen ;  the  fruits  ripened  through  the 
Song  silent  year,  reaped  in  a  day."     I  scarcely  un- 


348 


THE  DRAYT0N8  AND 


derstood  h(!r  then,  but  since,  I  have  often  thought 
she  was  right.  Sowing-times  and  growing-times, 
lono-,  silent,  underground ;  and  then  bursts  of  flow- 
ering days,  reapings  and  gatherings ;  a  life-time  in 
a  day;  a  thousand  long-prepared  events  bursting 
into  flower  in  a  moment.  A  thousand  ghosts  of 
forgotten  deeds  gathered  together  and  confronting 
us  at  one  point.  The  probation  thousands  of  years ; 
the  Judgment  a  day. 

Aunt  Dorothy  was  a  little  doubtful  as  to  our 
having  too  much  commerce  with  Gammer  Grindle 
or  Cicely.  "  If  Gammer  was  not  a  witch,"  said  she, 
"  which  God  forbid — though  that  there  are  witches 
who  ill-wish  cattle,  and  ride  on  broom-sticks,  is  as 
certain  as  there  are  wandering  stars  and  sea-ser- 
pents ;  at  all  events  it  is  a  solemn  warning  to  every 
one  on  the  danger  of  not  going  to  church  like  your 
neighbours.  And  if  Cicely  was  not  as  bad  as  had 
been  feared — for  which  God  be  praised — she  was 
nevertheless  an  awful  example  of  the  danger  of 
dancing  round  May-poles,  and  wearing  bits  of  rib- 
bons and  roses  on  your  head." 

But  when  Job  heard  of  it,  his  anger  was  greatly 
kindled. 

"  One  would  think,"  said  he,  "  the  Book  of  Job 
had  been  put  into  the  Apocrypha,  that  men  who 
profess  themselves  Christians  should  go  worrying 
the  afflicted  like  Zophar,  Bildad,  and  Eliphaz,  heap- 
ing coals  on  the  devil's  furnace.  Witches  there 
were,  no  doubt,  poor  wretches,  or  they  could  not 
have  been  hanged  and  burned,  although  for  the  most 
part  he  believed  the  devil  was  too  good  a  general 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  345 

to  let  his  soldiers  waste  their  time  in  cavalcading 
about  on  broom-sticks.  But,  be  that  as  it  might,  it 
was  ill  work  piling  wood  on  fires  that  were  hot 
enough  already,  especially  when  you  could  not  be 
sure  who  had  kindled  the  flames.  The  only  com- 
fort was,  that  after  all  the  devil  was  nothing  more 
than  the  Almighty's  furnace-heater.  All  his  toil  only 
went  to  heating  it  to  the  right  point  to  fuse  the  sil- 
ver. The  Master  would  see  that  none  of  the  true 
metal  was  lost." 

At  the  end  of  February,  Roger  came  to  us.  He 
was  pale  with  prison-air  and  meagre  from  prison- 
fare,  and  the  hair  had  grown  on  his  upper  lip.  In 
my  eyes  he  had  gained  far  more  than  he  had  lost. 
His  eyes  had  a  look  of  purpose  and  command  in 
them,  pleasant  to  yield  to ;  though  little  enough  of 
command  had  he  exercised  during  the  last  four 
months,  except,  indeed,  that  command  of  himself 
which  is  true  obedience,  and  lies  at  the  root  of  all 
true  command. 

He  was  even  less  given  than  of  old  to  long  nar- 
ratives or  orations  of  any  kind. 

The  history  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  drop- 
ped from  him  in  bioken  sentences,  as  he  went  about 
seeing  to  various  little  j^lans  for  strengthening  the 
defences  of  the  house,  or  as  he  repaired  or  cleaned 
his  arras  in  the  evening.  Of  what  he  had  sufl'ered 
he  said  nothing,  except  to  make  light  of  it  in  an- 
swer to  any  questioning  of  mine.  More  than  once 
he  mentioned,  in  a  few  brief  words.  Lady  Lucy's 
kindness.  But  he  did  not  speak  at  all  of  Lettice 
30 


35° 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


except  once,  when  we  were  all  sitting  together 
round  the  Hall  fire — Aunt  Dorothy,  Aunt  Gretel, 
and  I — when  he  said  carelessly,  as  if  he  had  just 
remembered  it  by  accident, — 

"  Mistress  Lettice  told  me  she  had  read  the  ser- 
mons you  gave  her,  Aunt  Dorothy.  And  she  sent 
you  her  love,  Olive." 

"There  are  gracious  dispositions  in  the  child," 
said  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  I  have  been  sure  of  it  for  a 
long  time." 

And  I  ventured  after  a  little  while  to  say, — 

"She  sent  me  her  love,  Roger,  and  was  that 
all?" 

"  Her  dear  love,  I  think  it  was,"  said  he  dryly,  as 
if  the  adjective  made  little  difference  in  the  value 
of  the  substantive. 

"  And  she  said  no  more,  Roger  ?  Not  one  mes- 
sage ?  " 

"  I  only  saw  her  for  ten  minutes,  Olive,"  said  he, 
a  little  impatiently,  "  and  most  of  the  time  she  was 
talking  to  a  little  French  poodle,  a  little  wretch  with 
wool  like  a  sheep  and  eyes  like  glass-beads." 

"  You  are  hard  on  the  poor  child,  Roger,"  said 
Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  consider  her  bringing  up.  I  war- 
rant she  never  spun  a  web,  or  learned  a  chapter  in 
Proverbs  thi'ough  in  her  life.  What  can  you  ex- 
pect from  a  mother  who  is  a  friend  of  the  Popish 
queen,  and,  I  am  only  too  sure,  wears  false  hair  and 
paint  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,"  said  he,  firing  up,  "  the  Lady 
Lucy  is  as  near  a  ministering  angel  as  any  creature 
I  ever  wish  to  see.     And  if  it  were  not  so,  it's  not 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


35« 


for  me,  who  have  lived  on  her  bread  and  on  her 
kind  looks  for  months,  to  hear  a  word  against  her." 

And  Roger  arose,  and  strode  out  of  the  hall  and 
across  the  court,  whistling  for  Lion ;  leaving  Aunt 
Dorothy  in  perplexity  as  to  Avhether  he  were  more 
aggrieved  with  her  for  defending  Lettice  or  for  as- 
sailing Lady  Lucy,  and  me  in  equal  perplexity  as 
to  how  I  could  ever  venture  to  introduce  Lettic^'s 
name  again,  longing  as  I  did  to  hear  more  of  her. 

"  You  never  saw  Lettice  after  she  gave  you  that 
message  ?  "  I  ventured  at  last  to  say  one  day  when 
we  were  walkinoj  alone  together. 

"  How  could  I,  Olive  ?"  said  he,  "  I  went  away  in- 
stantly ;  except  indeed,"  he  added,  "  when  I  hap- 
pened to  look  back,  as  I  was  leaving  the  court,  I 
Baw  her  standing  at  the  window  with  that  poodle 
in  her  arms.  But  I  did  not  look  again,  for  at  the 
same  moment  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  came  out  of 
another  door,  looking  as  if  he  were,  as  no  doubt  he 
is,  quite  at  home  in  the  place  with  them  all." 

"  O  Roger,"  I  said,  "  some  of  us  ought  to  write 
to  Lady  Lucy  at  once  to  say  how  wicked  he  is  ! " 

"  What  is  the  use,  Olive  ?"  said  he,  sadly.  "  It 
is  not  from  us,  rebels  and  traitors,  she  will  believe 
evil  of  a  good  Cavalier.  Least  of  all  from  me  or 
mine  about  Sir  Launcelot !"  he  added,  in  a  lower 
voice. 

"  But  he  may  be  deceiving  them  all,"  I  said,  2>as- 
sionately.  "  It  is  a  sin  to  let  him.  Can  nothing 
be  done  ?     Have  you  never  thought  of  it  ?" 

"  You  had  better  ask  me  could  I  think  of  nothing 
else,  Olive  ?"  said  he.     "  For  I  had  to  ask  myself 


352  TEE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

that  many  times  as  I  paced  up  and  down  in  prison, 
and  knew  about  it  all.  And  the  more  I  thought, 
the  more  helpless  I  saw  we  were  about  it." 

"  And  what  did  you  decide  on  at  last  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  decided  that  this  was  what  the  Civil  War  cost,^'* 
he  replied;  "not  battles  and  loss  of  limb  or  life 
only,  but  misunderstandings  and  loss  of  friends. 
To  have  all  we  say  and  do  reported  to  those  we 
love  best  through  those  who  think  the  worst  of  us, 
and  to  have  no  power  of  saying  a  word  in  justifica- 
tion or  explanation.  To  be  identified  with  fhe 
worst  men  and  the  most  violent  acts  on  our  side, 
and,  in  loyalty  to  the  principles  of  our  party,  not 
to  be  able  to  disown  them.  To  see  often  the  peo- 
ple we  love  best  estranged  more  and  more  from  the 
principles  we  hold  dearest ;  and  to  watch  a  great 
gulf  widening  between  us  which  no  voice  of  man 
can  reach  across." 

"I  feel  sure  nothing  and  no  one  could  mak(fLet- 
tice  thmk  harshly  of  us,  Roger,"  I  exclaimed ;  "  I 
feel  as  sure  as  if  I  had  been  speaking  to  her  yester- 
day." 

"  How  can  it  be  otherwise,  Olive  ?"  said  he,  "  es- 
pecially when  I  am  under  Colonel  Cromwell.  You 
should  have  seen  the  little  start  and  scornful  look 
she  gave  when  I  mentioned  his  name.  '  Colonel !' 
said  she,  almost  under  her  breath,  as  if  she  were 
talking  only  to  that  poodle.  But  I  heard  her 
There  is  no  one  the  Cavaliers  hate  like  him." 

"  It  seems  almost  a  pity  you  must  be  with  him  !" 
I  said,  thinking  only  of  Roger  and  Lettice. 

"A  pity,  Olive!"  said  he,  flashing  up.      "The 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


353 


Cavaliers  hate  Colonel  Cromwell,  because  wherever 
he  is  there  is  doing  instead  of  debating.  And  for 
what  better  reason  can  we  hold  to  him  ?  If  we 
light  at  all,  it  is  because  we  believe  there  is  some- 
thmg  worth  fighting  for  to  be  lost  or  won ;  and 
where  Colonel  Cromwell  is,  it  is  won.  The  coun- 
try he  defends  is  defended ;  the  city  he  holds  is 
held  ;  the  men  he  trains  fight ;  and,  thank  God,  my 
lot  is  with  him,  to  deiend  the  old  liberties  under  him, 
Olive,  or,  if  he  fails,  to  find  new  liberty  in  the  New 
England  across  the  seas." 

The  next  day  Roger  went  ofi"  to  join  his  regi- 
ment at  Cambridge,  where  Colonel  Cromwell 
was. 

How  silent  and  languid  the  old  house  seemed 
when  he  left  us,  Avithout  his  firm,  soldier-like  tread 
clearing  the  stairs  at  a  few  bounds,  and  his  whistle 
to  the  dogs,  and  his  voice  singing  with  a  firm  preci- 
sion, like  the  tramp  of  a  regiment,  snatches  of  the 
grave,  grand  old  psalm  tunes  which  the  Ironsides 
loved  to  march  to  ! 

A  fortnight  afterwards.  Job  Forster  followed 
him.  And  then  came  asrain  months  of  listenino- 
and  waiting,  and  of  contradictory  rumours,  ending 
too  often  in  ill-tidings  worse  than  the  worst  we  had 
feared. 

For  that  whole  year  brought  little  but  disast(!r  to 
the  Parliament  troops.  Day  after  day  in  that  yel- 
low old  Diary  of  mine  is  marked  with  black  tidings 
of  defeat  and  death. 

Fii-st  comes — 

"c7»«e  18. — Mr.  Hampden  wounded  in  trying  to 


30" 


* 


354 


THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 


keep  off  Prince  Rupert's  plunderers,  until  Lord  Es- 
sex came.  Lord  Essex  did  not  come  in  time,  and 
Mr.  Hampden  went  off  the  field  sorely  wounded. 
They  say  he  felt  himself  death-stricken,  and  turned 
his  horse  towards  the  house  of  his  first  wife,  whom 
he  loved  so  dearly,  that  he  might  die  there.  But 
his  strength  failed.  It  was  as  much  as  he  could  do 
to  make  one  last  effort,  and  spurring  his  horse  over 
a  little  brook  which  hounded  the  field,  to  find  his 
way  to  the  nearest  village,  and  home. 

'•'■  June  24. — Mr.  Hampden  died,  thinking  to  the 
last  more  of  "his  country  than  himself.  In  the 
midst  of  terrible  pain  he  wrote  (my  Father  tells  us) 
to  entreat  Lord  Essex  to  act  with  more  vigour,  and 
to  collect  his  forces  r6und  London.  He  received 
the  sacrament,  and  spoke  Avith  affection  of  the  ser- 
vices of  the  Church  of  England,  although  not  alto- 
gether so  of  her  bishops.  He  received  the  Lord's 
Supper,  and  for  himself  looked  humbly  and  peace- 
fully to  God,  But  for  England  his  heart  looked 
sorrowfully  onward.  And  his  last  words  were, 
*  Lord,  have  mercy  on  my  bleeding  country;'  and 
then  another  prayer,  the  end  not  heard  by  mortal 
ears.  My  Father  writes :  '  His  love  for  his  country 
will  scarce  fail  in  the  better  coimtry  whither  he  is 
gone.  But  his  counsel  and  all  his  slowly  garnered 
treasures  of  wisdom  are  lost  to  us  for  ever.'  " 

The  next  death  marked  is — 

"  September  20. — ^A  battle  at  Newbuiy,  in  Glou- 
cestershire. Lord  Falkland  killed.  Once  Hamp- 
den's friend,  and  7iow  (must,  it  not  be?)  his  friend 
again     A  good  man,  and  gentle,  and  wise,  they 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


355 


gay.  I  wonder  how  it  all  looks  and  sounds  there 
where  they  are  gone." 

And  the  next — 

"  November. — Mr,  Pym  is  dead.  They  have  hurl- 
ed him  among  the  kings  in  Westminster  Abhey.  I 
wonder  how  many  of  the  people  who  began  the  war 
will  be  fighting  at  the  end  of  it,  and  whether  they 
will  be  fighting  for  the  same  things  as  when  they 
began." 

Then,  mixed  up  with  these  notices  of  the  dead, 
are  \<  .ng  accounts  of  skirmishes  and  fights,  which 
every  one  thought  all-important  then,  but  which  no 
one  thinks  of  now,  save  those  who  have  their  be- 
loved dead  lying  beneath  the  fields  where  they  were 
fought. 

And  through  it  all  a  steady  going  downward  and 
downward  of  the  Parliament  cause,  from  that  fatal 
June,  1643,  when  Hampden  died,  to  near  the  close 
of  the  following  year. 

^'■June  30,  1643.— The  Fairfaxes  defeated  at  Ath- 
erton  Moor. 

^'- July  13.  —  Sir  William  Waller  (once  vainly 
boasted  of  as  William  the  Conqueror)  defeated,  and 
his  army  scattered,  in  Lansdowne. 

"  Juhj  22. — Prince  Rupert  took  Bristol." 

And  so  the  war  surged  away  to  the  Royalist 
West  and  Royalist  North,  until  in  all  the  West 
Country  not  a  city  was  left  to  the  Parliament  but 
Gloucester  ;  and  in  the  North  Country,  not  a  city 
but  Hull,  which  the  Hothanis  had  been  bafiled  in 
an  attempt  to  betray  to  the  king ;  whilst  in  the 
counties  between,  Prince  Rupert  and  the  plunderers 


356  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

were  having  it  much  their  owii  way.  Very  evil 
times  we  thought  them.  And  many  different  rea- 
sons were  assigned  for  the  faikire  of  the  good  cause. 
Aunt  Dorothy  feared  it  was  a  jjunishment  for  a  li- 
centious spirit  of  toleration  to  zealots  and  sectaries, 
and  the  sins  of  the  Independents.  The  zealous 
preacher  who  came  from  Suffolk  occasionally  to  ex- 
pound at  Job  Forster's  meeting,  was  sure  it  was 
carnal  compromise  lording  it  over  God's  heritage, 
and  the  sins  of  the  Presbyterians.  And  Racl  el  be- 
lieved it  was  the  sins  of  us  all,  and  of  herself  ii.  par- 
ticular, who  had,  she  considered,  been  too  much  like 
Ananias  and  Sapphira,  in  that  she  had  professed  to 
give  the  whole  price  to  God  and  then  would  fain 
have  kept  back  the  half,  having  indulged  the  de- 
ceitful hope  that  Job  was  so  wounded  as  never  to 
be  able  to  go  to  the  wars  again. 

Placidia  and  Mr.  Nicholls  were  much  "  exercised.*' 
Especially  since  the  loss  of  the  three  parsonage 
cows,  which  were  (by  what  Aunt  Dorothy  con- 
sidered a  very  solemn  warning  to  Placidia)  swept 
off  Avith  my  Father's  by  the  plunderers  from  the 
meadow  by  the  Mere.  "  There  were  two  texts," 
said  Placidia,  "  which  had  always  seemed  to  her 
exceedingly  hard  to  reconcile.  One  was,  '  Godli- 
ness hath  promise  of  the  life  which  now  is  as  well 
as  of  that  which  is  to  come.'  And  the  other, 
'  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  He  chasteneth.'  "What 
could  be  done  with  texts  so  exceedingly  difficult  to 
reconcile  as  these  ?" 

To  which  Aunt  Dorothy  rej)liod, — 

"  Give   up   trying   to   reconcile  them  at  all,  my 


THE  DA  VEKANTS. 


357 


dear.  Let  them  figbt,  as  frost  and  heat  do,  fire  and 
■water,  sunshine  and  storm ;  and  out  of  the  strife 
come  the  flower  and  the  fruit,  spring-time  and  har- 
vest, which  shall  never  cease.  Not  that  I  see  any 
difiiculty  in  it.  The  promise  is  not  meadows  or 
cows,  but  grace  and  peace.  The  j^erplexity  is  over 
when  you  make  up  your  mind  that  what  you  want 
is  not  to  feel  warm  for  a  day  or  two,  but  to  have 
things  grow ;  not  a  few  sunny  hours,  but  the  har- 
vest." 

Perhaps  among  us  all,  the  person  least  pei-plexed 
by  these  continued  disasters  was  Aunt  Gretel ;  be- 
cause, leaving  the  whole  field  of  politics  as  alto- 
gether too  complicated  for  her  to  comprehend,  she 
continued  to  see  only  the  links  which  bind  every 
day  to  the  Eternal  Day,  and  every  event  to  the 
hand  of  the  merciful  Father;  and  thus  her  chief 
wonders  ever  were  the  pity  which  forgave  so  many 
sins,  and  the  love  which  provided  so  many  mercies. 
Overlooking  all  the  battles  and  skirmishes  around 
us,  she  saw  but  one  Battle  and  one  Battle-field,  and 
but  two  Captains.  Overlooking  all  the  subordinate 
divisions  of  nations  and  parties,  she  saw  only  a 
flock  and  a  Shepherd,  and  the  Shepherd  calling  each 
one  by  one,  from  the  Great  Gustavus  to  little  Cicely 
and  poor  Tim ;  folded,  one,  in  the  heavenly  fold  of 
which  he  knew  nothing  till  he  was  in  it,  and  the 
other  in  the  j^oor  earthly  house  which  she  and  her 
child  and  her  grateful  love  had  made,  once  more,  a 
home  and  a  refuge  for  poor  old  Gammer.  For  since 
Cicely's  return.  Gammer's  broken  links  with  her 
fello\W-creatures  began  to  be  knit  again ;  and  more 


358  THE  DRA  JTONS  AND 

tlian  one  at  Netherby  took  Job's  words  to  heart. 
The  broad  shield  of  her  love  and  welcome  which 
she  threw  around  the  wanderer  had  shielded  her- 
self. 

But  side  by  side  with  the  doleful  records  in  my 
Diary  run  two  series  of  letters  full  of  victory  and 
hope. 

One  was  to  my  Father  from  Dr.  Antony,  who 
spent  most  of  that  period  in  London.  And  there, 
throughout  all  these  disasters,  the  courage  of  the 
citizens  seemed  never  to  fail. 

When  Lord  Essex  returned  from  Edgehill  with 
very  doubtful  success,  which  he  had  entirely  failed 
to  convert  into  lasting  gain  by  his  hesitations  and 
delays,  London,  of  as  brave  and  generous  a  heart 
as  old  Rome,  voted  him  £5,000. 

When  Bristol  fell  before  Prince  Rupert,  and  every 
city  in  the  west  save  Gloucester  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  khig,  and  Lord  Essex  timidly  recommended 
accommodation  with  His  Majesty,  and  the  Lords 
woiild  have  petitioned  him,  the  Commons,  the 
Preachers,  md  the  citizens  (knowing  that  no  ac- 
commodation with  the  king  could  be  relied  on  un- 
less secured  by  victory)  rejected  all  such  wavering 
thoughts.  The  sliops  were  all  shut  for  some  days, 
not  to  make  holiday,  but  for  solemn  fasting.  These 
days  were  spent  in  the  churches,  and  the  people 
came  forth  from  them  ready  for  any  sacrifice  for 
the  eternal  truth  and  the  ancient  liberty.  It  was 
determined  to  surround  London  witli  entrench- 
ments. Knights  and  dames  went  forth,  spade  in 
hand,  to  the  beat  of  drum,  to  share  in  the  digging 


THE  I) A  VENANTS.  ^  ^  q 

of  the  trenches,  and  to  hearten  others  to  the  work. 
And  in  a  few  days  twelve  miles  of  entrenchment 
were  dug.  Whereof  we  heard  His  Majesty  took 
notice,  and  lost  heart  thereby. 

Throughout  all  those  adverse  times  London  never 
lost  heart.  Plate  and  jewels  kept  pouring  into  the 
Parliament's  treasury  at  Guildhall.  Time  spent  by 
the  'prentices  in  the  Pax-liament  army  was  ruled  tc 
count  as  time  seiwed  in  their  trades.  And  jests 
against  the  courage  of  men  bred  in  streets  and 
trained  behind  counters  lost  their  point.  Dr.  An- 
tony's letters  through  all  that  dreary  time  had  the 
cheer  and  stir  of  a  triumphal  march  in  them,  al- 
though he  had  no  triumphs  to  relate,  but  only  de- 
feats borne  with  the  courage  which  repairs  them, 
and  although  he  himself  went  to  the  battle-field 
not  to  wound  but  to  bind  up  woxxnds. 

The  other  series  of  letters  was  from  Roger.  And 
these  cheered  us,  because  they  always  told  of  vic- 
tory. They  were  brief,  and  mostly  written  from 
the  battle-field,  to  assure  us  at  once  of  victory  and 
safety.  They  crossed  the  dark  shadows  of  my 
Diary  like  sunbeams.  In  June,  when  we  were 
mourning  over  the  death  of  Hampden,  and  over 
the  slow  debates  of  the  Lord-General  what  to  do 
first  for  the  bleeding  country,  wounded  in  every 
part  by  the  stabs  of  plunderers  and  reckless  Cava- 
liers, came  Roger's  first  letter,  delayed  on  its  way, 
dated,  "Grantham,  ISth  May,  1643."  It  spoke  of 
a  glorious  victory  vron  that  day  against  marvellous 
odds  of  number,  the  enemy  running  away  for  three 
miles,  four  colours  taken,  and  forty-five  prisoners, 


360  THE  DRA  TTONS  AND 

and  many  prisoners  rescued.  Again  in  July,  when 
we  were  bewailing  the  Faii-faxes  defeated  at  Ather- 
ton  Moor  in  the  north,  Sir  William  "Waller's  army 
routed  at  Lansdowne  Heath  in  the  west,  and  Bris- 
tol lost,  Roger  was  writing  us,  on  the  31st,  news 
from  Gainsborough  of  a  "  notable  victory  with  a 
chase  of  six  miles." 

Mingled  Avith  these  good  tidings  w^ere  sayings 
which  Roger  had  heard  of  Colonel  Cromwell's. 
Some  of  these  sayings  were  like  proverbs,  so  closely 
did  the  word  fit  the  thought.  Others  had  in  them 
the  ring  of  a  war-song,  as  when  he  wrote  to  the 
Commissioners  at  Cambridge.  "  You  see  by  this 
enclosed  how  sadly  your  affairs  stand.  It's  no 
longer  disputing,  but  out  instantly  all  you  can. 
Raise  all  your  bands  ;  send  them  to  Huntingdon ; 
get  up  "w^hat  volunteers  you  can ;  hasten  your  horses. 
Send  these  letters  to  Norfolk,  Sufiblk,  and  Essex 
without  delay.  I  beseech  you,  spare  not.  You  must 
act  lively ;  do  it  without  distraction.  Neglect  no 
means."  Yet  often  it  seemed,  when  you  listened 
to  Colonel  Cromwell,  as  if  it  were  by  some  mar- 
vellous accident  his  thoughts  did  ever  tumble  into 
their  right  clothes,  so  strangely  did  they  come 
lumbering  out.  But  every  now  and  then,  if  you 
had  patience,  amidst  the  rattling  of  the  rough 
stones  and  pebbles,  flashed  a  sentence,  sharp  cut 
and  brillian''  ns  a  diamond,  although,  apparently,  as 
unconscious  of  its  polish  and  sharpness  as  the  rest 
of  their  uncouth  ness.  "  Subtilty  may  deceive  you, 
integrity  never  will ;"  "  Truly,  God  follows  us  Avith 
encouragements,  who  is  the  God  of  blessings ;  and 


TRE  DA  VENANT8. 


361 


I  "beseech  you,  let  him  not  lose  his  hliissing  upon 
us !  They  come  in  season,  and  with  all  the  advan- 
tages of  heartening,  as  if  God  should  say,  '  Up  and 
be  doing,  and  I  will  stand  by  you  and  help  you  !' 
There  is  nothing  to  be  feared  but  our  own  sin  and 
sloth."  "  If  I  could  speak  words  to  pierce  your 
hearts  with  the  sense  of  our  and  your  condition,  I 
would.  It  may  be  difficult  to  raise  so  many  men 
in  so  short  time  ;  but  let  me  assure  you  it's  neces- 
sary, and,  therefore,  to  he  done."  "  God  hath  given 
reputation  to  our  handful  (the  Ironsides),  let  us  en- 
deavour to  keep  it.  I  had  rather  have  a  plain,  russet- 
coated  captain  that  knows  what  he  fights  for,  and 
loves  what  he  knows,  than  that  which  you  call  '  a 
gentleman  '  and  nothing  else.  I  honour  a  gentleman 
that  is  so  indeed."    . 

"  Yet,"  said  Roger  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  it  gives 
you  little  knowledge  of  what  the  Colonel  is  to  ex- 
tract these  bits  of  his  sayings,  and  make  them  em- 
phatic, as  if  he  meant  them  for  epigrams,  when  the 
force  is  that  they  are  said  without  force  ;  the 
thought  and  purpose  in  him,  which  always  go  to 
the  point  in  deeds,  from  time  to  time  flashing 
straight  to  the  point  in  words,  which  are  then  as 
strong  as  other  men's  deeds.  But  this  I  know, 
v/hen  he  says  of  us,  '  We  never  find  our  men  so 
cheerful  as  when  there  is  work  to  do,'  or, '  God  hath 
given  reputation  to  our  handful,'  we  all  feel  as  if 
we  were  dubbed  knights,  and  were  moving  about 
glorious  with  Royal  Orders." 

So,  slowly  as  the  year  passed  on,  some  of  us  be- 
gan dimly  to  feel  that  a  kingly  being  had  arisen 
31 


362 


THE  DRAYTON S,  ETC. 


among  us,  such  a  king  as  David  was  before  he  was 
crowned,  when  he  ruled  in  the  hearts  of  the  thou- 
sands of  Israel  by  right  of  the  slain  giant  and  the 
secret  anointing  of  the  seer ;  a  mighty  man,  who 
felt  nothing  impossible  which  he  believed  right, 
with  whom,  if  a  thing  was  "  necessary,"  it  was  "  to 
be  done." 


Chapter  X. 

LETTICE    DAVENANt's    DIARY. 

XFORD,  Januarij  30(h,  1644. — Another 
Christmas,  and  another  birthday,  shut 
up  within  these  monkish  old  stone  walls. 
To  my  mother  the  chapel,  with  the 
painted  windows,  and  the  organ,  and  the  daily  ser- 
vices, makes  up  for  much  that  we  lose.  But  as  to 
me,  when  I  hear  the  same  sounds,  and  see  the  same 
sights,  from  day  to  day,  I  scarcely  seem  to  hear  or 
see  them  at  all.  They  do  not  wake  my  soul  up. 
The  sacred  music  of  the  woods  and  fields  seems  to 
do  me  more  good,  at  least  on  week-days.  For  it  is 
sacred,  and  it  is  never  the  same.  And  the  choris- 
ters there,  while  they  are  singing  their  psalms,  are 
busy  all  the  time  building  their  nests,  and  finding 
food  for  their  nestlings,  which  make  their  songs  all 
the  more  tender  and  sacred  to  me. 

"  Not  a  word  from  them  at  Netherby.     And  not 
a  step  nearer  to  the  end. 

"  Yet  it  is  wrong  to  complain.     It  is  something 
to  have  my  Father  and  my  seven  brothers  still  un- 

(363) 


364  THE  D  RA  YTONS  A  KD 

touched,  after  being  exposed  during  all  this  time  to 
the  risks  of  the  war.  I  dread  to  think  what  a  gulf 
would  yawn  between  me  and  Olive,  and  all  of 
them,  if  once  one  very  dear  to  either  of  us  fell  in 
the  strife. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  but  that  things 
do  not  change ;  and  with  what  a  passion  of  regret 
I  should  long  for  one  of  these  unchanging  days,  if 
one  of  the  terrible  changes  that  might  come,  came. 

"  A  wretched  phantom  of  a  Parliament  appeared 
here  on  the  22nd  of  January.  I  would  the  king 
had  not  summoned  it.  We  should  leave  it  to  the 
rebels,  I  think,  to  deal  with  shows  and  phantoms 
of  real  things,  with  their  presumptuous  talk  of 
colonels  and  generals.  I  would  his  Majesty  had 
not  encountered  their  pretence  of  royal  authority, 
with  this  pretence  of  Parliamentary  debate.  Sixty 
Lords  and  a  hundred  Commons,  or  thereabouts, 
moving  helplessly  about  these  old  University 
streets,  with  no  more  power  or  life  in  them  than  the 
effigies  of  the  saints  and  crusaders  in  the  churches. 
Indeed  far  less,  for  the  effigies  are  memorials  of  per- 
sons who  once  were  alive,  and  this  Parliament  is 
nothing  but  a  C025y  of  the  clothes  and  trappings  of 
a  power  now  living.  The  king  does  not  consult 
them,  and  the  nation  does  not  heed  them,  and  they 
only  show  how  real  the  division  is  amongst  us. 
The  king  himself  calls  them  the  '  mongrel  Parlia- 
ment.' His  Majesty  is  so  grand  and  majestic  when 
he  is  grave,  I  feel  one  could  give  up  anything  to 
bring  a  happy  smile  over  his  sad  and  kingly  coun- 
tenance.    But  I  would  he  did  not  make  these  jests. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


365 


Many  grave  persons,  I  have  noticed,  when  they  set 
about  jesting,  are  apt  to  do  it  rather  cruelly.  Their 
jests  want  feathers.  .  They  fall  heavily,  weighted 
with  the  gravity  of  their  character,  and  instead  of 
pleasantly  pricking  and  stimulating,  they  wound. 
Therefore  I  wish  His  Majesty  would  not  jest.  Es- 
pecially about  Parliaments  and  the  navy.  People 
are  apt  not  to  see  the  wit  of  being  called  '  cats,' 
or  '  water-rats,'  or  '  mongrel.'  They  only  feel  the 
sting. 

"  March. — The  Scottish  General  Leslie  has  led  an 
army  over  the  Borders.  Traitor !  When  the  king 
was  so  gracious  as  to  create  him  Earl  of  Leveu  but 
a  few  years  since.  Oh,  faithless  Scottish  men  !  In- 
fatuated by  a  thing  they  call  Presbytery,  and  treach- 
erous to  their  compatriot  and  anointed  king  ! 

^^  June,  1644. — Another  summer  within  the  walls 
of  this  old  city.  Another  summer  away  from  the 
woods  at  home,  I  am  tempted  sometimes  to  wish 
the  war  would  end  in  any  way.  Politics  perplex 
me  more  and  more.  So  many  people  wishing  the 
same  thing,  for  contrary  reasons.  So  many  j^eople 
wishing  contrary  things  for  the  same  reasons.  So 
many  on  our  side  whom  one  hates ;  so  many  against 
us  whom  we  honour.  The  best  men  doing  the 
worst  mischief  by  beginning  the  strife ;  and  then 
dying,  or  doubting,  and  giving  place  to  the  worst 
men,  who  finish  it — if  ever  it  is  to  be  finished. 
Hampden  gone,  and  Lord  Falkland;  and  the  names 
one  hears  most  of  now.  Prince  Rupert  and  this 
Oliver  Cromwell.  They  call  him  General  now. 
What  next  ?  A  country  gentleman,  none  of  the 
31* 


366  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

most  notable  or  of  the  greatest  condition,  eking  out 
his  farming,  some  way,  with  brewing  ale,  at  Hunt- 
ingdon, until  he  was  forty-t\yo — and  at  forty-five, 
forsooth,  General  Cromwell,  with  men  of  condition 
capping  to  receive  his  orders.  A  fanatic,  moreover, 
who  preaches  in  the  oj^en-air  to  his  men  between 
the  battles. 

"  A  cheerful  Hfe  for  Roger  Drayton,  methinks  ! 
For  commander,  this  fanatic  brewer ;  for  comrades, 
preaching  tailors  and  fighting  cobblers  ;  for  recrea- 
tion. General  Cromwell's  sermons ;  and  for  martial 
music,  Sir  Launcelot  says,  Puritan  Psalms,  entoned 
pathetically  through  the  nose.  A  change  for  Roger 
Drayton  from  Mr.  Milton's  organ-playing,  or  the 
madrigals  we  sang  at  Netherby.  And  yet  I  ques- 
tion whether  our  Harry  would  not  find  even  that 
doleful  Puritan  music  more  to  his  taste  than  many 
a  mocking  Cavalier  ditty  wherewith  our  men  enter- 
tain themselves.  The  times  are  grave  enough,  and 
I  doubt  sometimes  but  the  Puritan  music  suits 
them  best. 

"  July  20. — Terrible  tidings,  if  true.  Lord  New- 
castle and  Prince  Rupert  defeated  at  Marston  Moor, 
on  the  2nd  of  July,  by  the  Earl  of  Manchester  and 
Cromwell.  A  hundred  colours  taken,  and  all  the 
baggage;  the  royal" army  scattered  in  all  directions. 
And  ten  days  afterwards,  York  surrendered.  Loyal 
York,  in  the  heart  of  the  loyal  North,  His  Majesty's 
first  retreat  from  his  faithless  capital ! 

"Strange  that  men  speak  more  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well than  of  the  Earl  of  Manchester  in  this  battle. 
Strange,  if  it  is  true,  as  some  say,  that  this  firebrand 


THE  DAVENANT8.  t^6-j 

v/as  already  in  a  ship  bound  for  flight  to  America  a 
few  years  since,  when  the  king  forbade  him  to  go. 
My  Father  says,  however,  that  the  man  who  really 
won  the  victory  for  the  Parliament  was  Prince  Ru- 
pert, who,  saith  he,  is  no  general,  but  a  mere  reck- 
less chief  of  foraging-parties.  It  was  he  who  hurri- 
ed the  Marquis  of  Newcastle  into  battle,  against  his 
judgment.  And  now  it  is  reported  that  my  Lord. 
Newcastle,  despairing  of  himself,  with  such  associ- 
ates (or  of  the  cause  with  such  leaders),  has  taken 
ship  for  France.  I  would  it  were  the  Palatine 
princes  instead.  Their  standard  was  taken  at  Mar- 
ston  Moor. 

"Three  of  my  brothers  were  there;  one  wounded, 
but  not  severely ;  the  other  two  have  gone  north- 
ward we  know  not  where. 

"  Harry  is  much  with  us,  being  about  the  king's 
person.  He  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
prince's  plundering  parties.  But  he  chafes  at  hav- 
ing missed  this  battle,  and  is  eager  for  the  king  to 
go  westward  to  inspire  and  reward  loyal  Devon  and 
Cornwall  by  his  presence,  and  to  pursue  my  Lord 
Essex,  who  has  gone  thither  with  the  rebel  forces. 

^^  AifffusL — The  queen  embarked  on  the  14th  of 
July  for  France.  I  marvel  she  can  bear  to  put  the 
seas  between  her  and  the  king  at  such  times  as 
these.  But  my  Mother  says  she  could  not  help  it, 
and  sacrifices  herself  most,  and  most  to  the  purpose, 
by  taking  off  the  burden  of  her  safety  from  Hia 
Majesty,  and  going  among  her  royal  kindred,  whom 
she  may  stir  up  to  tight.  And  indeed  she  did  essay 
tc  rejoin  the  king.     After  the  birth  of  the   little 


368  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

princess  at  Exeter,  she  asked  ray  Lord  Essex  for  a 
Bafe-conduct  to  the  Bath  to  drink  the  waters ;  but  he 
oSered  her  instead  a  safe-conduct  to  London, '  where,' 
quoth  he,  '  she  woukl  find  the  best  physicians.'  A 
sorry  jest  I  deem  this,  inviting  her  to  run  into  the 
very  den  of  the  disloyal  parliament,  which  lately 
dared  to  '  impeach  '  her. 

"  Rebel  galleys  followed  her  from  Toi'bay,  but 
she  escaped  safe  to  Brest,  and  I  trow  the  king's  af- 
fection for  her  is  so  true  he  had  rather  know  her 
safe  than  have  her  with  him.  Yet,  methinks,  in  her 
case  I  would  not  have  left  it  to  him  to  decide.  The 
more  one  I  so  loved  cared  for  my  welfare  and  safety, 
the  more  I  would  delight  to  risk  and  dare  all. 

^'•August. — They  are  off  to  the  West,  the  faithful 
West — the  king,  and  my  Father,  and  Harry,  with  an 
army  enthusiastical  in  their  loyalty,  and  high  in 
hope  and  courage.  Prince  Rupert  not  with  them, 
and  Oliver  Cromwell  not  with  the  rebels.  Surely 
there  must  be  great  things  done  ! 

"  September. — The   glorious  news  has  come  : — 

"  Lord  Essex's  array  is  ruined,  gone,  vanished. 
Not  routed  in  a  hard  fight,  but  steadily  pursued  to 
Fowey,  in  a  corner  of  loyal  Cornwall,  there  cooped 
up  ingloriously,  closer  and  closer,  until  the  general 
was  fain  to  flee  by  sea,  and  the  whole  of  the  foot 
had  to  surrender.  The  cavalry,  indeed,  fought  their 
way  through,  Avhich,  being  Englishmen,  I  excuse 
them.     But  never  was  ruin  more  complete. 

"  Harry  writes  from  Tavistock,  where  His  Majes- 
ty has  retired,  a  small  town  nestled  among  wooded 
hills  at  the  foot  of  the  wild  moors,     Mr.  Pym  wag 


THE  I) A  VEN'A^^TS. 


369 


member  for  it ;  nevertheless  tlie  place  seems  not, 
ill-disposed. 

"  Koveniber. — Harry  is  with  us.  I  have  never  seen 
him  so  in  spirits  since  the  war  began. 

"  The  royal  army  received  a  slight  check  at  New- 
bury, a  place  fatal  already  with  the  blood  of  the 
brave  Lord  Falkland. 

"  But  Harry  seems  to  think  nothing  of  that  in 
comparison  with  the  state  of  things  this  battle  hath 
revealed  among  the  rebels.  Rebellion,  saith  he,  is 
at  last  obeying  its  own  laws,  and  crumbling  away 
by  its  own  inherent  disorganization. 

"  After  the  second  battle  of  Newbury  the  quiet 
of  our  life  was  effectually  broken  by  a  threatened 
attack  on  Oxford. 

"  Artillery  booming  at  our  gates,  bullets  falling 
in  our  streets.  At  last  I  had  a  little  taste  of  real 
war.  I  did  not  altogether  dislike  it.  There  was 
something  that  made  my  heart  beat  fiimer  in  the 
thought  of  sharing  my  brothers'  and  my  Father's 
danger.  But  then,  I  must  confess,  it  did  not  come 
very  near.  The  walls  were  still  between  us  and  the 
enemy.  After  a  short  cannonading  the  rebels  drew 
off,  from  a  cause,  Harry  says,  worth  us  many  victo- 
ries. Lord  Essex  and  Sir  William  Waller,  their  two 
generals,  could  not  agree,  and  between  them  the 
attack  on  Oxford  was  abandoned  ;  and  M'hat  was 
more,  the  king,  who  was  encamped  outside  the  city, 
with  a  force  in  numbers  quite  unequal  to  cope  with 
their  combined  forces,  was  suffered  to  retreat  with- 
out a  blow  to  Worcester. 

"  But  better  than  all.     Hany  says  the  rebel  gen- 


470  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

erals  are  assailing  each  other  with  all  kinds  of  re- 
proaches in  the  Parliament,  accusing  each  other  as 
the  cause  of  all  the  late  failures.  Lord  Essex,  Lord 
Manchester,  and  Sir  William  Waller,  none  of  them 
cordially  uniting  with  each  other  against  us,  but  all 
most  cordially  uniting  in  assailing  Oliver  Cromwell, 
who  is  the  only  one  among  them  we  have  cause  to 
dread.  And  to  complete  the  melee,  the  Scotch 
preachers  are  having  their  say  in  the  matter,  and 
solemnly  accuse  Mr.  Cromwell  of  being  an  '  Incen- 
diary ! ' 

"  Which  is  quite  plain  to  us  he  is.  So  that  now, 
when  the  Incendiaries  themselves  have  set  about  to 
fight  each  other,  and  to  put  out  the  flames,  it  is 
probable  the  arson  will  be  avenged,  the  flames  tvill 
be  put  out,  and  we  quiet  and  loyal  subjects  shall 
have  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  rebuild  the  ruins. 

"  Then  we  will  try  to  say  as  little  as  we  can  about 
who  began  the  mischief,  and  only  see  who  can  work 
best  in  repairing  it. 

"  The  King  and  the  Parliament  throughout  the 
land,  and  the  Draytons  and  the  Davenants  at  dear 
old  Netherby." 

olive's  eecollections. 

At  the  end  of  July,  1644,  we  had  a  letter  from 
Roger : — 

''  Marston  Moor,  Juhj  od. — To  my  dear  sister  Mis- 
tress Olive  Drayton. — On  the  battle-field.  A  mes- 
senger going  south  will  take  these. 

"Thank  God    we  are  here  this  day.     And   the 


THE  1)A  VENANTS. 


371 


enemy  is  not  here,  but  flying  right  and  left,  over 
moor  and  mountain.  No^  such  victory  has  been 
vouchsafed  us  before. 

"  Yesterday,  the  2nd  July,  early  in  the  morning, 
we  were  moving  oiF  the  ground — Lord  Manchester, 
General  Leslie,  and  General  Cromwell. 

"  Prince  Rupert  had  gallantly  thrown  provisions 
into  York,  which  we  were  beleaguering ;  but  the 
generals  thought  he  would  not  venture  an  attack 
on  our  combined  forces. 

"  But  when  we  were  fairly  in  order  of  march  the 
prince  fell  on  Qur  rear. 

"  It  took  us  till  three  in  the  day  to  face  round, 
front  them,  and  secure  the  position  we  wanted. 
There  is  a  rye  field  here  with  a  ditch  in  front, 
where  the  dead  bear  witness  how  we  had  to  fight 
for  it. 

"  At  three.  Prince  Rupert  gave  their  battle-cry : 
*  For  God  and  the  king  ;'  and  we  ours  :  '  Ood  with  us.'' 
From  three  till  five  we  pounded  each  other  with  the 
great  guns.  But  little  impression  was  made  on 
either  side.  And  at  five  there  was  a  pause.  TwC 
hours'  silence,  confronting  each  other,  from  five  to 
seven.  Such  silence  as  may  be  where  many  are 
•wounded,  and  many  are  Avaiting  in  agonies  for  the 
summons  to  die,  while  the  rest  were  waiting  for  the 
summons  to  charge.     At  last,  at  seven,  it  came. 

"  Our  foot,  under  Lord  Manchester,  ran  across  the 
ditch  before  that  rye  field  for  which  they  had  fought 
so  hard.  Thus  far  was  clear  to  all.  The  rest  we 
know  only  from  comparing  what  we  did,  and  seeing 
what  we  had  done  afterwards.     For  immediately 


372 


THE  DRAY  TONS  AND 


on  the  attack  of  the  foot  came  the  charges  of  the 
horse.  The  left  wing  of  the  kmg's  army  on  our 
right  they  all  but  routed,  driving  the  Lord  Man- 
chester, Lord  Fairfax,  and  the  old  veteran  Leslie 
from  the  field.  Meantime  our  right — that  is,  we, 
the  Ironsides  with  the  general — charged  their  left. 
We  were  not  beaten.  I  trust  we  gave  him  no  rea- 
son to  be  ashamed  of  us.  But  everywhere  the  fight- 
ing was  hard.  Having  discharged  our  pistols,  we 
flung  them  from  us  and  fell  to  it  with  swords.  Then 
came  the  shock,  like  two  seas  meeting,  each  man 
encountering  the  foe  before  him,  but  few  knowing 
how  the  day  was  speeding  elsewhere,  till  we  found 
ourselves  with  the  whole  front  of  the  battle  changed, 
each  victorious  wing  having  wheeled  round  as  they 
fought,  and  standing  where  the  enemy  had  stood 
when  the  fight  began.  Then  came  up  General 
Cromwell's  reserves  with  General  Leslie's,  and  de- 
cided the  day,  sending  Prince  Rupert  and  his  plun- 
derers flying  headlong  through  the  gathering  diisk. 
It  was  the  first  time  they  had  encountered  the  Iron- 
sides. Their  broken  horse  trampled,  as  they  fled, 
on  the  broken  and  flying  foot,  we  spurring  after 
them,  till  within  a  mile  of  York.  Arms,  ammuni- 
tion, baggage,  colours,  all  cast  away  in  the  mad 
terror  of  the  flight.  To  within  a  mile  from  York 
we  followed  them,  and  then  turned  back,  and  slept 
on  the  battle-field. 

"Another  silence,  Olive  ;  not  as  before,  in  expec- 
tation of  another  fight,  but  with  our  work  done, 
and  four  thousand  dead  around  us  to  be  buried. 

"  Job  Forster  is  safe,  and  would  have  you  tell 


THE  DA  VEX  ANTS.  -,  7  , 

Rachel  that  the  Lord  has  sent  Israel  a  judge  at  last, 
and  all  must  go  right  now. 

"  He  went  about  with  Dr.  Antony  all  night,  see- 
ing to  the  wounded  and  the  dying. 

"  When  I  awoke,  the  summer  morning  was  shm- 
ing  on  the  field,  and  I  wondered  how  I  could  have 
slept  with  all  those  sights  and  sounds  around  me. 
But,  thank  God,  I  did,  for  there  is  more  to  be  done 
yet.     York  has  to  be  taken. 

"  Tell  Rachel,  by  using  my  military  authority,  I 
got  Job  to  lie  doAvn  in  my  place,  while  I  went  round 
with  Dr.  Antony.  At  first  he  wavered.  But  I 
said  :  '  The  general  is  sharp  on  any  of  us  who  neg- 
lect our  arms  or  powder.  And  the  body  has  to  be 
looked  to  as  well  as  the  powder.'  Whereon  he  lay 
down  in  my  cloak,  and  in  a  minute  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  any  rousing,  short  of  a  cannonade. 

"  N.  B.  — Two  young  Davenants  fought  well  a 
few  yards  from  me ;  scarcely  more  than  lads. 

"  God  grant  we  gained  yesterday  a  step  towards 
peace." 

A  fortnight  after,  another  letter,  dated : — 

"  York,  the  15th  Juli/. — York  has  surrendered. 
The  North  is  ours.  This  moment  returned  from  a 
thanksgiving  in  the  minster.  The  grandest  music 
of  the  organ  scarce,  I  think,  could  have  echoed 
more  solemnly  among  the  old  roofs  and  arches  than 
that  psalm,  sung  by  the  thousands  of  rough  soldiers' 
voices.  King  David  was  a  soldier,  and  knev/  how 
to  make  such  psalms  as  soldiers  need.  Xor  do  I 
think  the  old  minster  has  often  seen  a  cono^resfation 
more  serious  and  devout.  If  some  on  the  Cavalier 
32 


3  74  T^^  ^^^  YTONS  AND 

side  had  heard  it,  they  could  scarce  have  said  after- 
wards, our  Puritan  religion  lacked  its  solemnities. 
Our  solemnities  begin  indeed  within  ;  but  when  the 
tide  of  devotion  is  high  and  deep  enough,  no  music 
like  that  it  makes  in  overflowing." 

To  Roger,  as  to  any  one  borne  on  the  chariot  of 
the  sun,  the  whole  world  seemed  full  of  light.  To 
us,  however,  meanwhile  in  the  Fens,  things  seemed 
verging  more  and  more  from  twilight  into  night. 

Not  much  more  than  a  month  after  the  letter  ol 
Roger's  concerning  the  surrender  of  Yoi-k,  came  tid- 
ings which,  it  seemed  to  us,  more  than  counterbal- 
anced these  advantages. 

The  royal  letter  post,  lately  established  on  the 
great  North  Road  between  London  and  Edinburgh, 
and  southward  between  London  and  Plymouth,  had 
been  interrupted  during  the  war.  Netherby  lay  in 
the  line  of  one  of  the  more  recent  branch-posts ; 
and  we  missed  at  first  the  pleasant  sound  of  the 
horn  which  the  postman  was  commanded  to  blow 
four  times  every  hour,  besides  at  the  posting- 
stations. 

At  first  Aunt  Dorothy  had  rather  rejoiced.  She 
had  been  wont  to  say  it  was  a  grievous  interference 
with  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  that  we  should  be 
compelled  to  send  all  our  letters  by  the  hands  of 
the  king's  messengers,  instead  of  by  any  private 
carrier  we  chose.  And,  moreover,  she  deemed  it 
highly  derogatory  to  His  Majesty  to  demean  him- 
self to  take  a  few  pence  each  letter  for  such  services. 
But  a  few  months  of  return  to  the  old  private  me- 


THE  DA  VEN'ANTS.  37^ 

thod,  with  all  its  uncertainties  and  suspenses,  niade 
her  receive  the  public  posts  again  as  a  boon,  when 
the  Commonwealth  government  re-established  them. 

It  was  from  Dr.  Antony,  therefore,  that  we  first 
heard  the  tidings  of  the  Lord  Essex's  flight  from 
Fowey,  and  the  ruin  of  his  whole  army. 

This  was  not  until  November. 

He  brought  two  letters  from  my  Fathei  raid  Ro- 
ger. My  Father's  was  sad  ;  Roger's  was  indignant. 
Both  spoke  of  divisions  among  the  supporters  of 
the  Parliament.  They  were  written  at  different 
times,  but  reached  us  together  by  Dr.  Antony's 
hand  as  the  first  safe  opportunity.  The  fii'st  Avas 
from  Roger,  dated  late  in  September,  speaking  of 
the  surrender  of  Lord  Essex's  foot  : — "  Marston 
Moor  with  the  four  thousand  that  lie  dead  there," 
he  wrote,  "  was  after  all,  it  seems,  not  a  step  to- 
wards the  end.  Everything  gained  there  is  thrown 
away  again  by  the  indecisions  of  noblemen  who  are 
afraid  to  win  too  much ;  and  old  soldiers  who  will 
not  move  a  finger  except  in  the  fashion  some  one 
else  moved  it  a  hundred  years  ago.  As  if  when 
war  is  once  begun,  there  were  any  way  to  peace  but 
by  the  ruin  of  one  party,  except,  indeed,  by  the 
ruin  of  both ;  as  if  a  lingering  war  were  a  kind  of 
half  peace,  instead  of  being  as  it  is,  the  worst  of 
wars ;  the  opening  of  the  nation's  veins  at  a  thousand 
points,  whereby  she  slowly  bleeds  to  death.  Lieu- 
tenant-General  Cromwell  takes  sadly  to  lieart  the 
sad  conditions  of  our  army  in  the  West.  He  saith, 
had  we  wings  we  would  fly  thither.  Lideed,  wings 
he  hath   at   command,  in   the   hearts  of  his   men, 


3  76  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

*  never  so  cheerful,'  he  says,  '  as  when  there  is  work 
to  do.'  But  there  are  those  whose  chief  business  is 
to  clip  these  wings,  lest  affairs  fly  too  fast.  The 
general  saith,  '  If  we  could  all  intend  our  own  ends 
less,  and  our  ease  too,  our  business  in  this  army 
would  go  on  wheels  for  expedition.'  If  he  were  at 
the  head  of  affairs,  we  should  not,  in  sooth,  lack 
wheels  or  wrings." 

The  second  letter  was  from  my  Father  written 
early  in  November,  after  the  second  battle  of  New- 
bury (fought  on  the  27th  of  October). 

He  wrote, — 

"  It  is  the  old  story,  I  fear,  of  our  Protestant  lack 
of  unity.  People  do  not  seem  able  to  see  that  the 
military  unity  of  the  Poman  Church  being  broken, 
the  only  ecclesiastical  unity  possible  for  us  is  the 
unity  as  of  an  empire,  like  that  of  Great  Britain, 
with  different  races  and  local  constitutions  under 
one  sovereign  ;  or  the  unity  as  of  a  family  of  grown- 
up children,  in  free  obedience  to  one  father.  If  Lu- 
therans and  Calvinists  could  have  merged  their  less- 
er differences  in  their  real  agreement,  probably  that 
terrible  war,  which  is  still  crushing  the  life  out  of 
Germany,  need  never  have  begun.  If  Prelatists, 
Presbyterians,  and  Independents  could  agree  now 
to  yield  each  other  liberty,  this  war  of  ours  might 
end.  But  while  they  had  power,  Prelatists  would 
rather  let  the  nation  be  torn  asunder  than  tolerate 
Presbyterians.  And  now  the  Presbyterians  think 
they  have  power,  they  had  rather  lose  everything 
we  have  gained  than  tolerate  Independents.     The 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


377 


merit  of  the  Independents  and  Anabaptists  be- 
ing, perhaps,  only  this,  that  they  never  have  had 
the  power  to  persecute.  I  cannot  see  whither  it  is 
all  tending. 

"  We  have  lost  an  army  in  Cornwall ;  but  that  is 
little.  It  seems  to  me  some  of  us  are  losing  all  hold 
of  what  we  are  fighting  for.  This  success  at  New- 
bury shows  our  weakness  more  than  the  ruin  at 
Fowey.  Lord  Manchester  will  not  pursue  the  king, 
lest  our  last  army  should  be  lost ;  in  which  case,  he 
says,  His  Majesty  might  hang  us  all.  As  if  the 
block  or  the  gallows  had  not  been  the  alternative 
of  success  from  the  beginning.  In  consequence  of  a 
disagreement  between  him  and  Sir  William  Waller, 
the  combined  attack  on  Oxford  failed  ;  and  eleven 
days  after  our  success  at  Newbury,  His  Majesty's 
troops  were  sufiered  quietly  to  withdraw  their  artil- 
lery from  Donington  Castle,  in  face  of  our  victori- 
ous army  lying  inactive. 

"  The  indignation  in  the  ai*my  is  unbounded. 
But  all  minor  divisions  bid  fair  to  resolve  them- 
selves into  two  great  factions  of  Presbyterians 
and  Independents ;  Lieutenant-General  Cromwell 
having  addressed  a  remonstrance  to  the  Parlia- 
ment against  Lord  Manchester,  and  Lord  Man- 
chester, Lord  Essex,  and  Hollis,  with  the  Scotch 
Commissioners,  being  set  on  crushing  General 
Cromwell. 

"  The  quarrel  is  of  no  new  origin.     The  affair  of 

Donington  Castle  did   but    set    the    tinder  to  the 

train.     It   dates   back   to  the  first  setting  of  the 

Westminster  Assembly,  when   the  Presbyterians, 

32* 


378 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


not  content  with  absoi-bing  the  Church  revenues, 
which  would  have  been  conceded  to  them,  would 
have  had  the  magistrate  imprison  and  confiscate 
the  goods  of  all  whom  they  excommunicated. 
'Toleration,'  said  one  of  them,  '  will  make  the  king- 
dom a  chaos,  a  Babel,  another  Amsterdam,  a  Sodom, 
an  Egypt,  a  Babyloil  Toleration  is  the  grand 
work  of  the  devil ;  his  masterpiece  and  chief  engine 
to  support  his  tottering  kingdom.  It  is  the  most 
compendious,  ready,  sure  way  to  destroy  all  relig- 
ion, lay  all  waste,  and  bring  in  all  evil.  As  origi- 
nal sin  is  the  fundamental  sin,  having  the  seed  and 
spawn  of  all  sin  in  it,  so  toleration  hath  all  errors 
in  it  and  all  evils.'  They  call  toleration  the  *  great 
Diana  of  the  Independents.'  Yet  no  one  contends 
for  toleration  to  extend  beyond  the  orthodox  Prot- 
estant sects.  These  divisions  set  many  of  us  think- 
ing what  we  are  fighting  for.  It  would  be  scarcely 
worth  so  much  blood-shedding  to  establish  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  popes  at  Westminster,  instead  of 
one  at  Lambeth.  They  are  golden  words  of  Gen- 
eral Cromwell's :  '  All  that  believe  have  the  real 
unity,  which  is  most  glorious,  because  inward  and 
spiritual,  in  the  Body  and  to  the  Head.  For  being 
united  in  forms,  every  Christian  will,  for  peace' 
sake,  study  and  do,  as  far  as  conscience  will  per- 
mit. And  for  brethren,  in  things  of  the  mind,  we 
look  for  no  compulsion  but  that  of  light  and  rea- 
son.' " 

"  What  does  my  brother  mean.  Master  Antony  ?" 
quoth  Aunt  Dorothy,  when  she  came  to  this  pas- 
sage.    "  Aud  what  doth  General  Cromwell  mean  ? 


THE  DA  YEN' A  NTS. 


379 


'  No  comi^ulsion  !'  and  '  light  and  reason !'  Most 
dangerous  words.  An  assembly  of  godly  divines 
at  Westminster  to  settle  everything  !  That  is  pre- 
cisely what  we  have  been  fighting  for.  Not  for 
disorder ;  not  for  each  man  to  think  what  is  right 
in  his  own  judgment,  and  do  what  is  right  in  his 
own  eyes.  But  for  those  who  believe  right  to  have 
the  power  to  instruct,  or  else  to  silence,  those  who 
believe  wrong.  Light  and  reason  indeed!  The 
cry  of  all  the  heretics  from  the  beginning.  Why, 
I'eason  is  the  very  source  of  all  error.  And  light  is 
precisely  what  Ave  lack,  and  what  the  Westminster 
Assembly  is  providing  for  us ;  and  when  they  have 
just  kindled  it,  and  set  it  up  like  a  city  on  a  hill, 
does  Mr.  Cromwell,  forsooth,  think  we  are  going  to 
let  every  tinker  and  tailor  kindle  his  farthing  can- 
dle instead,  and  lead  people  into  any  wilderness  he 
pleases  ?" 

Said  Dr.  Antony, — 

"  There  was  a  great  light  enkindled  and  set  up 
on  a  Sorrowful  Hill  sixteen  hundred  years  ago.  But 
it  has  only  enlightened  the  hearts  of  those  who 
would  look  at  it.  And  if  the  Sun  does  not  put  out 
these  poor  farthing  candles.  Mistress  Dorothy,  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  find  it  a  hard  matter  to  do  so  with 
our  fingers." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  I  am  sure  I  cannot 
see  whither  things  are  tending." 

And  even  Aunt  Gretel  remarked, — 

"That  Independents  and  Presbyterians  should 
agree  might  indeed  be  easy  enough.  But  Luther- 
ans and  Calvinists  are  quite  another  question.     Lj 


^8o  THE  DRAYTONS  AND 

the  next  world — well,  it  is  to  be  hoped.  Death 
works  miracles.  But  in  this,  scarcely.  The  dear 
brother-in-law  is  one  of  the  wisest  of  men.  But  it 
cannot  be  exj^ected  that  the  wisest  Englishman 
should  quite  fathom  the  religious  differences  of 
Germany." 

Of  toleration  towards  Papists,  Infidels,  or  Qua- 
kers, no  one  dreamed.  Infidelity,  all  admitted, 
comes  direct  from  the  devil,  and,  of  course,  no 
Christian  should  tolerate  the  devil  or  his  works. 
The  Papists  had  within  the  memory  of  our  older 
men  sent  fetters  to  bind  us,  and  fagots  to  burn  us 
in  the  Armada,  which  the  winds  of  God  scattered 
from,  our  coasts.  In  France  they  had  massacred 
our  brethren  in  cold-blood  to  the  number  of  one 
hundred  thousand  in  the  slaughter  which  began  on 
St.  Bartholomew's  day.  They  had  assassinated  our 
kindred  by  tens  of  thousands  in  Ireland  in  our  own 
times.  And  they  were  binding,  and  burning,  and 
torturing,  and  making  galley-slaves  of  our  brethren 
still  on  the  Continent  of  Europe.  Not  as  heretics 
we  kept  them  under,  but  as  rebels.  And  as  to 
the  Quakers,  they  were  reported  to  be  liable  to  at- 
tacks of  objections  to  clothes  very  perplexing  to 
sober-minded  Christians,  and  were  probably  many 
of  them  lunatics.  These  should  not  indeed  be  burn- 
ed, but  they  should  at  all  events  be  clothed,  and, 
if  possible,  silenced,  until  they  came  to  their  right 
mind. 

The  third  letter  which  Dr.  Antony  had  brought 
us  was  from  Job  Forster.  I  went  with  Dr.  Anto- 
ny to  take  it  to  Rachel.     In  it  Job  spoke  much  of 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


381 


Roger's  courage  and  goodness,  in  a  way  it  made 
my  heart  beat  quick  to  hear. 

"  Master  Roger  fights  like  a  lion-like  man  of  Ju 
dah,"  wrote  Job,  "  and  commands  like  one  of  the 
chief  princes.  And  at  other  times  he  can  tend  a 
wounded  man,  friend  or  foe,  or  speak  good  Avords 
to  the  dying,  most  as  tender,  Rachel,  as  thee." 

Job's  letter  was  by  no  means  doubtful  or  de- 
sponding. He  had  the  advantage  of  those  in  the 
ranks.  He  saw  only  the  rank  and  the  step  immedi- 
ately before  him,  and  heard  not  the  discussions  of 
the  commanders  but  only  the  word  of  command. 
"  I  think,"  he  concluded,  "  we  have  come  about  to 
1  Sam.  xxii.  14.  Some  time  back  we  were  in  1 
Sam.  xxii.  1,  in  cave  Adullam:  'Every  one  that 
was  in  debt,  and  every  one  that  was  discontented, 
gathered  themselves  unto  them,'  and  a  sorry  troop 
they  were.  But  that  is  over.  The  General  saith 
himself:  '  I  have  a  lovely  company ;  honest,  sober 
Christians  ;  you  would  respect  them  did  you  know 
them.'  And  respect  us  they  do;  leastways  the 
enemy.  And  now  David  (that  is,  General  Crom- 
well) is  in  Keilah.  And  they  inquired  of  the  Lord 
and  the  Lord  said,  'They  will  deliver  thee  up.' 
But  God  delivered  him  not.  The  rest  has  to  come  in 
its  season." 

Job  wrote  also  of  "  the  young  gentleman  the 
chirurgeon."  "  Of  as  good  a  courage  as  tlie  best," 
quoth  Job.  "  For  I  hold  it  harder  to  stand  about 
among  the  whizzing  bullets,  succouring  or  remov- 
ing the  wounded  than  to  fight.  It  is  always  harder 
to  stand  fire  than  to  charge.     And  it  is  harder  to 


382  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

spend  days  and  nights  tending  poor  groaning  suf- 
fering men  than  to  suflfer  youi'self.  That  is,  if  you 
have  got  a  heart.  Which  that  doctor  hath.  But 
every  man  hath  his  calling.  And  Dr.  Antony  hath 
his.     Straight  from  headquarters,  as  I  deem." 

It  was  curious  that  what  struck  me  first  in  those 
words  of  Job's  was  his  calling  Dr.  Antony  "  young." 
It  se^j  me  wondering  what  his  age  might  be ;  and 
as  we  walked  home  together  I  glanced  at  him  to 
see.  I  had  always  thought  of  him  as  my  Father's 
friend,  and  therefore  of  another  generation.  Be- 
sides there  was  the  doctor's  cap,  and  a  physician  is 
always,  ex  officio,  an  elder.  But  when  I  came  to 
consider  his  face,  it  had  certainly  nothing  of  old 
age  in  it.  His  carriage  was  erect  and  easy ;  his 
hair,  raven-black,  had  not  a  streak  of  gray;  his 
eyes,  dark  as  they  were,  had  fire  enough  in  them. 
These  researches  scarce  took  me  a  moment,  but  his 
eyes  met  mine,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  half  guessed 
Avhat  I  was  thinking  of,  for  he  said, — 

"  You  wondered  at  Job's  talking  of  the  courage 
of  a  chirurgeon." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I,  somewhat  confused.  "  I 
was  only  thinking  how  it  was  you  were  always  our 
Father's  friend  instead  of  ours." 

"  Was  I  not  yours  ?"  he  said,  half  smiling. 

"  Oh,  yea,  of  course,"  I  said,  "  every  one's." 

"Every  one's.  Mistress  Olive,"  he  said  inquir- 
ingly, "  only,  not  yours  ?" 

"  Mine,  of  course,"  I  said,  feeling  myself  becom- 
ing hopelessly  entangled,  "  and  every  one's  be- 
sides." 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  3  g 3 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  should  not 
have  liked  the  exchange." 

"Is  it  easier,  do  you  think,  Dr.  Antony,"  I  said, 
breaking  hurriedly  from  the  subject,  "  to  fight,  than 
to  be  a  chirurgeou  on  the  battle-field  ?" 

"  Easier,  probably,  to  me,"  he  said.  "  Fighting 
is  in  our  blood.  My  grandfather  was  a  soldier,  and 
fought  in  the  French  wars  of  religion.  He  was  as- 
sassinated at  the  St.  Bartholomew  with  Coligny. 
My  father,  then  a  child,  was  seized,  baptized,  and 
educated  in  a  Catholic  seminary.  But  he  escaped, 
at  the  risk  of  his  life,  to  England.  In  France  we 
had  enough  of  wars  of  religion.  I  have  thought  it 
better  work  to  devote  myself  as  far  as  I  may  to 
succour  the  oppressed,  and  heal  such  as  can  be 
healed  of  the  wounds  and  sorrows  of  men.  There 
is  enough  of  danger  and  of  warfare  in  these  days 
in  such  a  calling  to  satisfy  a  soldier's  passion,  and 
not  to  let  the  blood  stagnate  or  grow  cold." 

There  was  a  subdued  fire  in  his  eye  and  a  deep  son- 
orous ring  in  his  voice,  which  gave  force  to  his  words. 

"  But  Antony  is  not  a  French  name,"  I  said. 

"  It  was  my  father's  Ch  istian  name,  which  he 
adopted  for  safety.  His  name  was  properly  An- 
toine  la  Mothe  Duplessis,  from  an  estate  our  family 
had  held  for  some  centuries.  But,  Mistress  Olive," 
he  said,  turning  the  discourse,  as  if  it  led  to  painful 
subjects,  or  as  if  he  shrank  from  continuing  on  a 
theme  so  unusual  with  him  as  himself,  "  I  under- 
stand you  are  accused  of  upholding  witches." 

Whereby  I  was  led  into  an  earnest  defence  of 
Gammer  Grindle. 


384  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

"  But  even  if  she  had  been  a  witch/'  I  ventured 
to  say,  in  conclusion,  "  would  it  not  have  been 
more  like  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  to  rescue  and 
then  to  instruct  her,  than  to  drown  her  ?  And  is 
not  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  the  highest  law  we 
have  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  last  edition  of  the  Divine  law  yet  is- 
sued, INIistress  Olive,"  he  said.  "  And  one  great 
glory  of  it  is,  it  seems  to  me,  that  it  is  not  only  so 
plain  itself  as  to  need  no  commentary  of  lawyer 
or  scribe,  but  if  we  try  to  keep  it,  it  has  a  won- 
derful power  of  making  other  things  plain  as  we 
go  on." 

At  which  point  we  reached  the  porch  at  1-^ether- 

Said  Aunt  Dorothy,  as  Dr.  Antony  was  taking 
leave  the  next  day, — 

"  You  must  not  trouble  yourself  to  be  oui  ictter- 
carrier.  Less  useful  men  can  be  spared  on  such 
errands.  I  wonder  my  brother  should  have  burden- 
ed you  therewith." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mistress  Dorothy,"  said  he ;  '■'  but 
it  was  my  free  choice  t  «  come.  And  I  promis'^-  you 
I  will  only  come  when  it  is  no  burden." 

Said  she,  holding  his  hand, — 

"  Pardon  me ;  but  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your 
mother.  Sutfer  an  aged  woman  to  warn  you  against 
new-fangled  notions.  Beware  of '  light '  and  '  rea- 
son,' prithee,  and  such  presumptuous  pleas.  The 
liglit  that  is  in  us  is  darkness,  and  our  reason  is  cor- 
rupt. The  spiritual  armour  your  fathers  fought  io. 
Master  Antony,  is  proof  still." 


THE  DAVEN-AN7'S. 


385 


"  I  believe  it,  Mistress  Dorothy,"  he  rejilied ;  "  and 
if  in  new  times  and  in  new  dangers  I  should  need 
new  weapons,  believe  me,  I  will  only  go  to  my 
fathers'  armoury  for  them." 

I  was  provoked  with  myself  when  he  had  left, 
that  of  all  the  wise  discourse  that  had  been  held 
since  he  came,  the  things  that  kept  recurring  to  my 
mmd  were  what  Job  had  said  of  Dr.  Antony,  and 
how  foolish  I  had  been  in  the  answers  I  gave  him 
on  our  way  home  from  Rachel's.  He  must  deem 
me  so  unmannerly,  I  thought.  And,  besides,  so 
many  fitting  things  now  occurred  which  I  might 
have  said.  Nothing  occiapies  one  like  a  conversa- 
tion in  which  one  has  failed  to  say  what  one  ought 
to  have  said.  It  haunts  one  like  a  melody  of  which 
you  cannot  find  the  end. 

It  was  evident,  moreover,  that  Aunt  Dorothy 
took  the  same  view  of  Dr.  Antony's  age  as  Job.  It 
made  Dr.  Antony  seem  like  some  one  quite  new, 
to  think  of  this ;  new,  and  yet  certainly  not  strange. 

The  next  Christmas,  the  army  being  in  winter- 
quarters,  my  Father  spent  with  us,  which  made  it 
a  holiday  indeed. 

In  February,  1645,  he  read  us  a  letter  which  Dr. 
Antony  wrote  to  him,  narrating  what  was  going  on 
in  London.  At  the  beginning  there  was  a  consider- 
able piece  which  he  did  not  read  to  us.  He  said  it 
related  to  family  matters,  Avhich  he  could  speak  of 
hereafter,  and  contained  greetings  to  us.  Thus  the 
letter  proceeded — it  was  dated  January  21st,  1645  : 

"  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  is  this  day  appointed  by  the 
Commons'  House  general-in-chief,  in  lieu  of  Lord 
83 


386  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

Essex;  Skiptou  major-general;  ydiile  the  post  of 
lieuteuant-genei'al  is  left  open.  Most  men  deem 
that  he  who  fills  it  will  fill  more  than  it,  as  his  name 
and  fame  now  fill  all  men's  months.  There  have 
been  fierce  debates,  whisperings,  consjjirings,  mys- 
terious midnight  meetings  at  Essex  House  ;  the  aim 
of  the  whole  of  these  conspirings,  the  bond  of  all 
these  gatherings,  being  to  '  remove  out  of  the  Avay 
Genei-al-Licutenant  Cromwell,  whom,'  said  the  Scot- 
tish Commissioners,  '  ye  ken  very  weel  is  no  friend 
of  ours.'  This  '  obstacle,'  this  '  remora,''  this  '  incen- 
diary,' as  they  called  him  (soaring  high  into  Latin 
in  their  vain  endeavours  to  find  words  lofty  enough 
to  express  their  abhorrence),  had  hundreds  of  grave 
English  and  Scottish  Presbyterian  divines,  soldiers 
and  lawyers,  been  labouring  for  months  to  remove 
out  of  the  way  ;  yet,  nevertheless,  on  the  9th  of  De- 
cember, there  he  stood  in  the  Commons'  House,  as 
immovable  an  obstacle  and  '  remora '  as  ever,  and 
about  to  prove  himself  an  '  Incendiary  '  indeed  by 
kindling  a  flame  which  should  consume  their  elo- 
quent Latin  accusations  and  their  authority  at 
once. 

"  There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  House.  General 
Cromwell  broke  it,  speaking  abruptly,  and  not  in 
Latin. 

"  '  It  is  now  a  time  to  speak,'  he  said,  '  or  for  ever 
hold  the  tongue.  The  important  occasion  now  is 
no  less  than  to  save  a  nation  out  of  a  bleeding,  nay, 
almost  dying  condition,  which  the  long  continuance 
of  this  war  hath  already  brought  it  into  ;  so  that 
without  a  more  speedv,  vigorous,  eifectual  prosecu- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


i87 


tion  of  the  "war — casting  off  all  lingering  proceed- 
ings like  those  of  soldiers  of  fortune  beyond  sea  to 
spin  out  a  war — we  shall  make  the  kingdom  weary 
of  us,  and  hate  the  name  of  a  Parliament. 

" '  For  what  do  the  enemy  say  ?  Nay,  what  do 
many  that  were  friends  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Parliament  ?  Even  this,  that  the  members  of  both 
Houses  have  got  great  places  and  commands,  and 
the  sword  into  their  hands,  and  what  by  interest  in 
Parliament,  what  by  power  in  the  army,  will  per 
petually  continue  themselves  in  grandeur,  and  not 
permit  the  war  speedily  to  end,  lest  their  own  pow- 
er should  determine  with  it.  This  that  I  speak  here 
to  our  own  faces,  is  but  what  others  do  utter  abroad 
behind  our  backs.  I  am  far  from  reflecting  on  any. 
I  know  the  worth  of  those  commanders.  Members 
of  both  Houses  who  are  still  in  power;  but  if  I  may 
speak  my  conscience  without  reflection  on  any,  I  do 
conceive  if  the  army  is  not  put  into  another  method, 
and  the  war  more  vigorously  prosecuted,  the  people 
can  bear  the  war  no  longer,  and  will  enforce  you  to 
a  dishonourable  peace. 

"  '  But  this  I  would  recommend  to  your  prudence. 
Not  to  insist  upon  any  complaint  or  oversight  of 
any  commander-in-chief  upon  any  occasion  whatso- 
ever, for  as  I  must  acknowledge  myself  guilty  of 
oversights,  so  I  know  they  can  i-arely  be  avoided  in 
military  affairs.  Therefore,  waiving  a  strict  inquiry 
into  the  issues  of  these  things,  let  us  -apply  our- 
selves to  the  remedy,  which  is  most  necessary. 
And  I  hope  we  have  such  true  English  hearts,  and 
zealous  affections  towards  the  general  weal  of  our 


388  THE  BRA  YTOA  S  AND 

mother-countiy,  as  no  members  of  either  House  will 
scruple  to  deny  themselves  and  their  own  private 
interests  for  the  public  good,  nor  account  it  to  be 
a  dishonour  done  to  them,  whatever  the  Parliament 
shall  resolve  ujDon  in  this  weighty  matter.' 

"  Another  member  followed  and  said, — 

" '  Whatever  be  the  cause,  two  summers  are  pass- 
ed over,  but  we  are  not  saved.  Our  victories  (the 
price  of  blood  invaluable)  so  gallantly  gotten,  and 
(which  is  more  pity)  so  graciously  bestowed,  seem 
to  have  been  put  into  a  bag  with  holes ;  what  we 
won  one  time,  we  lost  another ;  the  treasure  is  ex- 
hausted, the  country  wasted,  a  summer's  victory 
has  proved  but  a  winter's  story ;  the  game,  how- 
ever, shut  w^  with  autumn,  was  to  be  played  again 
the  next  spring,  as  if  the  blood  that  had  been  shed 
were  only  to  manure  the  field  of  war  for  a  more 
plentiful  crop  of  contention.  Men's  hearts  have 
failed  them  with  the  observation  of  these  things.' 

"  The  cause  Genei-al  Cromwell  deemed  to  be  the 
multiplication  of  commanders.  The  remedy,  that 
members  of  both  Houses  should  deny  themselves  the 
right  to  appoint  themselves  to  posts  of  military  com- 
mand. The  'Self-Denying  Ordinance'  and  the 
*  New  Model '  of  the  army  were  proposed,  and  soon 
passed  the  House  of  Commons.  The  Lords  debated 
and  rejected  it ;  but  this  day  the  Commons  have  ap- 
pointed Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  commander-in-chief, 
superseding  Lord  Essex.  And  few  doubt  but  they 
will  carry  it  through. 

"Thus  may,  we  trust,  a  few  vigorous  strokes 
bring  peace  ;  and  peace,  order. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


389 


"But  meanwhile,  during  these  dark  January 
days,  another  conflict  has  ended  ;  on  Tower  Hill. 

"  The  fallen  archbishop,  whose  name  was  a  terror 
for  so  many  years  in  every  Puritan  home  in  Eng- 
land, there,  on  this  lOth  of  January,  laid  down  his 
life  heroically  and  calmly  as  a  martyr,  which  he 
surely  believed  himself  to  be.  He  read  a  prayer  he 
had  composed  for  the  occasion.  I  grieve  to  say,  the 
scaffold  was  crowded,  not  Avith  his  friends.  He  said 
he  would  have  wished  an  empty  scaffold,  but  if  it 
could  not  b^  so,  God's  will  be  done ;  he  was  more 
willing  to  go  out  of  the  world  than  any  could  be  to 
send  him.  A  helpless,  forsaken  old  man,  heavily 
laden  with  bodily  infirmities,  four  years  a  prisoner, 
uneasily  dragged  from  trial  to  trial,  I  never  heard 
that  his  courage  failed.  I  would  they  had  let  hi  _a 
die  in  quiet.  But  Sir  John  Clotworthy,  over  zeal- 
ous, as  I  think,  asked  him  what  text  was  most  com- 
fortable to  a  man  in  his  departure.  '  Cupio  dissolvi 
et  esse  cum  Christo,'  said  the  archbishop.  '  That  is 
a  good  desire,'  was  the  rejoinder  ;  '  but  there  must 
be  a  foundation  for  that  desire,  an  assurance.'  '  No 
man  can  express  it,'  was  the  calm  reply,  '  it  must 
be  found  within.'  '  Yet  it  is  founded  on  a  word, 
and  that  word  should  be  known.'  '  It  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  Jesus  Christ,'  said  the  archbishop,  '  and  that 
alone  ; '  and  to  finish  the  discussion,  he  turned  to 
the  headsman,  > gave  him  some  money,  and  said, 
'  Here,  honest  friend,  God  forgive  thee,  and  do  thy 
ofiice  on  me  in  mercy  ; '  and  so,  after  a  short  pray- 
er, his  head  was  struck  off  at  one  blow.  The  crowd 
dispersed,  and  the  fa*^al  hill  was  left  once  more 
33* 


39° 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


silent  and  deserted,  with  the  scaffold  and  the  Tower 
facing  each  other,  the  weary  prison  of  so  many,  and 
the  blood-stained  key,  which  had  for  so  many  un- 
barred its  heavy  gates,  and  also,  we  may  trust, 
another  gate,  from  inside  which  our  whole  earth 
seems  but  a  prison  chamber. 

"  If  we  look  at  the  world  only  as  divided  into 
parties,  truly  this  death  of  his  were  worth  to  those 
who  think  with  him,  more  than  many  victories  in 
Parliament  or  in  the  field.  But  if  Ave  think  of  the 
One  Kingdom,  surely  we  may  rejoice  that  one  who, 
as  it  seems  to  us,  erred  much  in  head  and  heart,  and 
did  no  little  hurt,  came  right  at  last,  and  took  ref- 
uge with  Him  who  receives  us  not  as  Archbishops, 
or  Presbyterians  or  Independents,  but  as  repe  atant, 
weary,  and  heavy-laden  men  and  women. 

"  Some  few  friends  reverently  buried  him  in  Bark- 
ing Church  to  the  words  of  the  old  burial-service, 
prohibited  by  the  Parliament  a  fev/  days  before. 
All  honour  to  them." 

Said  Aunt  Gretel,  Avhen  my  Father  had  finished 
reading  this  letter, — 

"  It  is  a  great  pity  the  martyrs  should  not  all  be 
on  the  right  side.  It  would  make  it  so  very  much 
easier  to  know  which  is  the  right." 

"Martyrs  on  the  wrong  side,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Dorothy,  indignantly  ;  "  you  might  as  well  talk  of 
orthodox  heretics." 

But  my  Father  replied, — 

"  If  obedience  is  better  than  sacrifice,  then  obe- 
dience is  the  best  part  of  the  sacrifice  of  martyr- 
dom ;  and  may  we  not  trust  that  the  Master  may 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  3  9 1 

accept  the  act  of  obedience  even  of  some  who  mis- 
read the  word  of  command  ?" 

The  next  day  he  left  us  for  London,  and  we  saw 
him  no  more  for  many  months. 

On  the  29th  of  January,  commissioners  of  the 
Parliament  and  of  the  king  met  at  Uxbridge  to  ne- 
gotiate for  peace.  But  they  did  not  get  on  at  all. 
Dr.  Stewart  syllogistically  defended  the  divine  right 
of  Episcopacy,  and  Dr.  Henderson  the  divine  right 
of  the  Preshyterial  government.  My  Lord  Hert- 
ford and  my  Lord  Pembroke  would  have  passed 
this  by,  to  proceed  to  the  particular  points  to  be 
settled ;  but  the  divines  declined  to  be  hurried,  m- 
sisting  on  disputing  syllogistically  "  as  became 
scholars."  So,  after  twenty  days.  Dr.  Stewart  and 
Dr.  Henderson,  being  each  confirmed  in  their  con- 
viction of  his  own  orthodoxy,  the  commissioners 
separated  with  no  further  result. 

One  evening,  indeed,  it  is  said,  the  king  had  con- 
sented to  honourable  terms ;  but  in  the  night  a  let- 
ter came  from  Montrose  announcing  Royalist  victo- 
ries, and  in  the  morning  His  Majesty  retracted  the 
concessions  of  the  evening. 

Meanwhile  the  two  armies  continued  fighting; 
not  in  two  large  bodies,  but  in  scattered  skirmishes, 
sieges,  surprises,  all  over  the  country,  making  well- 
nigh  every  quiet  home  in  England  a  sharer  in  thu 
misery  and  tumult  of  the  war. 

The  moi-al  difference  between  the  forces  of  the 
Parliament  and  the  king  became,  it  was  said,  more 
obvious.  It  could  scarce  be  otherwise.  War  must 
EQ-ake  men  finner  in  virtues  or  more  desperate  in 


392 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


sin.  ^  Men  must  get  less  and  less  human  with  years 
of  jDlundering,  and  indulgence  in  every  selfish  sinful 
pleasure.  No  good  woman  durst  venture  near  the 
Royalist  army,  my  Father  said,  and  vice  and  pro- 
faueness  were  scarcely  punished ;  whci'eas  in  the 
Parliament  camp,  as  in  a  well-ordered  city,  passage 
was  safe,  and  traiSc  free.  It  was  the  armies  of  the 
great  Gustavus  and  that  of  Wallenstein  over  again. 

I  think  it  would  he  blasphemy  to  deem  such  dif- 
ferences can  have  no  weight  in  a  world  where  God 
is  King. 

I  wonder  if  it  can  be  that,  after  all.  It  leads  to 
more  good  to  fight  out  the  great  battles  of  right 
and  wrong  in  this  way,  than  syllogistically,  in  Dr. 
Stewart  and  Dr.  Henderson's  way.  The  logical 
battles  making  good  men  fierce,  and  not  hurting 
the  bad  at  all ;  the  battles  for  life  and  death  mak- 
ing good  men  nobler,  at  all  events,  even  if  they 
make  the  bad  men  worse.  Making  good  men  bet- 
ter seems  the  end  of  so  many  things  that  God  per- 
mits or  orders  in  this  world.  And  as  to  making 
bad  men  worse,  it  seems  as  if  that  could  not  be 
helped,  because  everytlihig  does  that  until  they 
change  the  direction  they  are  going  in,  which  great 
troubles  and  dangers  sometimes  startle  them  to  do. 
If  this  be  so,  the  j^ain  and  misery  and  death  would 
cease  to  be  so  perjjlexing.  Aimt  Dorothy  used  to 
say,  a  Church  without  a  rod  in  her  hand  is  a  Church 
without  sinews.  But  a  Church  with  a  rod  seems 
sometimes  as  blind  and  severe  in  using  it  as  the 
world.  For  which  reason,  I  suppose,  the  best  peri- 
ods of  Church  history  seem  often  to  be  those  iu 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


393 


wliicli  the  world  holds  the  rod  instead  of  the  Church. 
And  a  war  may  sometimes  be  as  effectual  an  instru 
ment  of  godly  discipline  as  a  synod. 

lettice's  diaey, 

^^  June  lilh,  1645,  Dd-vcnant  Ilall^  Three  o'clock  in 
the  morning. — "VYe  came  home  yesterday,  and  I 
grudge  to  sleep  away  any  of  these  first  hours  in  the 
old  house.  It  is  like  travelling  into  some  marvel- 
lous foreign  country,  to  rise  at  an  unwonted  hour 
in  the  morning.  The  sky  looks  so  much  higher  be- 
fore the  roof  of  daylight  has  quite  spread  over  it. 
For  after  all,  daylight  is  a  roof  shutting  us  in  to  our 
own  green  sunny  home  of  earth.  And  that  is  partly 
what  makes  the  night  so  awful.  We  stand  roofless 
at  night,  open  to  all  the  other  woi'lds,  with  no  walls 
or  bounds  on  any  side.  And  at  dawn  something  of 
the  boundlessness  and  awfulness  are  still  left.  With 
a  majestical  slow  pomp  the  morning  sweeps  the 
veil  of  sunlight  over  star  after  star,  falling  in  grand 
solemn  folds  of  purple  and  crimson  as  it  touches  the 
edge  of  our  world,  until  the  great  spaces  of  the 
upper  worlds  are  all  shut  out,  and  we  are  shut  in 
with  our  own  kindly  sun,  and  our  own  many-col- 
oured fleeting  clouds,  and  our  own  green  earth. 

"  Then  the  other  aspect  of  the  dawn  begins. 
Her  first  steps  and  movements  are  all  grand  and 
silent.  But  when  the  awful  infinity  beyond  is  shut 
out,  and  we  are  left  alone,  face  to  face  w'th  her,  she 
changes  altogether. 

"  The  stars  pass  away  in  silence.     But  the  day 


394 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


awakes  with  all  kinds  of  joyful  sounds.  The  clouds 
are  transformed  from  solemn  purple  banners  in 
some  great  martial  or  sacred  procession  to  royal  or 
bridal  draperies.  They  garland  the  earth  with 
roses,  they  strew  pearls  and  diamonds;  they  spread 
the  path  of  the  new  sun  with  cloth  of  gold.  The 
whole  world,  earth,  and  sky,  seems  to  blossom  into 
colour,  like  a  flower  from  its  sheath.  Every  leaf  of 
the  limes  outside  my  window,  every  sj^ike  of  the 
horse-chestnuts  seems  to  awake  with  a  flutter   of 

joy- 

"  It  seems  as  if  infinity  came  back  to  us  in  a  new 
way.  For  the  infinite  spaces  of  night,  we  have  the 
infinite  numbers  of  day.  Instead  of  the  heavy 
masses  of  foliage  waving  an  hour  or  two  dimly 
since  against  the  sky,  there  is  a  countless  multitude 
of  leaves  fluttering  in  and  out  of  the  sunlight,  a 
countless  multitude  of  birds  singing,  chirjiing,  twit- 
tering, among  the  branches,  a  countless  throng  of 
insects  hovering,  wheeling,  darting  in  and  out 
among  the  leaves ;  there  are  the  infinite  varieties 
of  colpur  on  every  blade  of  grass,  on  every  blossom, 
on  every  insect's  wing. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  joy  to  be  here  again.  Every 
creature  seems  to  welcome  me.  I  seem  to  long  to 
speak  to  every  one  of  them,  and  just  add  a  little  . 
drop  of  happiness  to  the  happiness  of  them  all.  1 
want  to  take  all  of  them,  in  some  way,  like  little 
children,  to  my  heart  and  kiss  them. 

"  Olive  said  that  feeling  was  really  the  longing 
to  be  folded  to  the  Heart  which  is  at  the  heart  of 
all ;  but  nearer  us  than  any  other  creature. 


THE  DA  VEITANTS. 


395 


^^^  He  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him.^ 

"  She  thought  it  meant  something  like  that. 

"  Leaning  out  of  my  window,  looking  down  from 
the  slopes  of  the  Wolds,  as  we  do  across  the  long 
space  of  fens  which  stretches  before  us  like  a  sea,  I 
see  the  gables  of  Netherby. 

"  Olive  is  there  asleep. 

"  Olive,  and  Mistress  Dorothy  and  Mistress  Gretel. 

"  And  here,  my  mother  and  I. 

"  Fathers  and  brothers  all  at  the  war.  In  sight, 
yet  how  sadly  out  of  reach  !  This  terrible  war  that 
seems  as  if  it  would  never  end.  Things  have  not 
been  going  on  quite  so  prosperously  with  us  lately  ; 
although  many  strong  places  in  the  North  are  still 
loyal ;  and  all  the  West  is  ours,  and  much  of  Wales. 
A  new  vigour  seems  to  have  come  into  the  rebel 
councils.  They  say  the  soul  of  them  all  is  this 
Oliver  Cromwell,  that  he  and  his  friends  have 
brought  in  some  new  regulation,  called  by  some  of 
their  unpleasant  Parliament  names.  They  call 
everything  a  covenant  or  an  ordinance,  as  if  it  were 
all  out  of  the  Bible.  They  call  this  the  Self-Deny- 
ing  Ordinance.  The  meaning  of  it  seems  to  be 
that  they  are  all  to  deny  themselves  to  give  Mr. 
Cromwell  the  real  command.  At  least,  Harry 
thinks  so.  And  he  looks  gloomily  on  our  affairs. 
He  was  at  home  before  we  came,  to  make  the  place 
ready  for  us.  And  he  only  left  yesterday  morning 
to  rejoin  the  king's  army,  which  is  in  Leicester- 
shii-e.     Not  so  very  far  off. 

"  I  wonder,  if  there  were  a  battle,  if  we  should 
hear  the  sound  of  it ! 


1596  THE  LEAYrONS  AND 

0 

"  A  few  days  since  the  troops  stormed  Leicester, 
and  sacked  it.  Harry  would  not  tell  us  niucli  about 
it.  He  said  it  was  too  much  ^fter  the  fashion  of 
those  dreadful  German  wars  of  religion,  which 
Prince  Eupert  has  taught  our  men  to  imitate  too 
well. 

"  Poor  wretched  city  !  We  could  not  hear  any- 
thing of  that.  Groans  and  even  helpless  cries  for 
pity  do  not  reach  far.  At  least,  not  on  earth,  I  sup- 
pose nothing  reaches  heaven  sooner, 

"  I  wish  that  thought  had  not  come  into  my  head 
about  hearing  the  roar  of  a  battle  if  there  were  one. 
Since  it  came,  I  cannot  help  listening,  through  all 
the  sweet  cheerful  country-sounds,  the  twitterings 
of  the  swallows  under  the  eaves,  the  soft  cadences' 
of  the  thrushes,  the  stirring  of  the  grasses,  for  some- 
tliing  in  the  distance  ! 

.  "  If  we  did  hear  anything,  it  would  be  very,  very 
far  off,  fainter  than  the  fluttering  of  the  leaves ;  like 
the  moan  of  distant  thunder. 

"  In  summer  days  there  are  often  mysterious,  far- 
off  sounds  one  cannot  account  for.  And  now  I  can 
do  nothing  but  listen  for  it. 

"  For  almost  the  last  thing  Harry  said  when  ho 
went  away  was,  that  there  would  be  a  battle,  pro- 
bably, before  long,  and  if  a  battle,  probably  a  great 
battle. 

"  The  forces  are  gathering  and  approaching  each 
other. 

"  He  took  leave  of  us  gayly,  my  Mother  and  me. 
But  ten  minutes  afterwards,  he  galloped  back  to 
the  place  in  the  outer  field  where  I  was  standino- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


Z97 


looking  after  him  (my  Mother  having  gone  to  be 
alone,  as  she  ahvays  does  when  Harry  leaves  us). 
His  face  had  lost  all.  the  gaiety,  and  he  said, — 

"  '  Lettice,  if  things  were  not  to  prosper  with  the 
king,  and  the  rebels  were  to  attack  this  house,  I 
think  it  would  be  better  not  attempt  to  stand  a 
siege.  The  house  extends  too  far  to  be  defended,  ex- 
cept with  a  larger  garrison  than  you  could  muster. 
And  the  country  is  against  us.  If  it  came  to  the 
very  worst,  Mr.  Drayton  is  a  generous  enemy  and  a 
gentleman,  and  would  give  you  safe  harbour  for  a 
time.  If  all  on  their  side  or  ours  had  been  like  the 
Draytons,  there  need  have  been  no  war.  You  may 
tell  them  that  I  said  so,  if  you  like,  if  it  ever  comes 
to  that.' 

"  '  Comes  to  what,  Harry  ?  '  I  said,  shuddering. 

"  He  tried  to  smile.  But  then,  his  countenance 
suddenly  changing,  he  said, — 

" '  Lettice,  we  must  think  of  all  possibilities. 
You  are  young,  and  my  Mother  is  used  to  lean  on 
others.' 

"'  Only  on  you^  Harry,'. I  said. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  said,  hurriedly  ;  '  too  much,  perhaps. 
But  trust  the  Draytous,  if  necessary,  Lettice.  They 
will  never  do  anytiiing  unjust  or  ungenerous.  If 
you  ask  their  advice,  they  will  advise  you  for  your 
good,  though  it  cut  iheir  own  throats  or  broke  their 
own  hearts.' 

"  Then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  said, — 

"  '  It  is  never  any  good  to  try  to  say  out  a  fare- 
well, Lettice.  K  one  had  years  to  say  it  in,  there 
would  always  be  something  left  unsaid.  Partings 
34 


398  THE  DRA  YTONS  A iVD 

are  always  sudden,  -^-hether  vre  are  snatched  from 
each  other  as  if  by  pirates  in  the  dead  of  night,  or 
watch  the  lessening  sail  till  it  becomes  a  speck  in 
the  horizon.  The  last  step  is  always  a  plunge  into 
a  gulf.  But,  Lettice,'  he  added,  lowering  his  voice, 
'  death  itself  is  not  really  a  gulf,  only  to  those  on 
this  edge  of  it.  Do  not  tell  my  Mother  I  came  back. 
K  she  asks  you  anything  about  it,  tell  her  I  never 
went  away  with  a  lighter  heart.  For  I  see  less  and 
less  what  the  end  will  be,  or  what  to  wish  for,  and 
I  am  content  more  and  more  to  make  the  day's 
march,  and  leave  the  conduct  of  the  campaign  to 
God.' 

"And  he  rode  off,  looking  like  a  prince,  and  1 
watched  him  till  he  disappeared  behind  the  trees. 
He  looked  back  once  again  and  Avaved  his  plumed 
hat  to  me,  and  then  galloped  out  of  sight  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  I  crept  back  by  a  side-door  near  the  stable,  that 
my  Mother  might  not  see  me  ;  and  Caesar,  Harry's 
dog,  made  a  dismal  whining,  and  crouched  and 
fawned  on  me,  so  that  it  went  to  my  heart  not  to  be 
able  to  grant  him  Avhat  he  asked  for  so  plainly  in 
his  poor  dumb  way,  and  set  him  free  to  follow  Harry. 

"  June  14,  Ten  o'clock  at  night. — Some  men  who 
came  from  the  North  this  evening,  say  there  has 
been  fighting  towards  the  North-west,  somewhere 
on  the  borders  of  Northamptonshire  and  Leicester- 
shire. The  roar  of  the  guns  began  early  in  the 
day,  and  then  there  was  sharp  interrupted  firing, 
which  went  on  till  the  afternoon,  when  it  seemed 
gradually  to  cease. 


THi:  LA  VENANTS. 


199 


"  All  day  it  has  been  going  on.  All  this  quiet 
summer  day.  My  Father  there,  perhaps,  and  Harry 
certainly.  Aud  nothing  to  be  heard  until  to-mor- 
row. 

"  My  Mother  -will  not  seek  rest  to-night.  I  see 
the  lamp  in  her  oratory-window.  And  far  off  across 
the  fields,  another  light  in  the  gable  of  old  Nether- 
by,  where  Olive  Drayton  used  to  sleep.  It  is  some 
comfort  to  think  we  are  watching  together.  Olive 
is  so  good.     And  she  will  be  sure  to  remember  us. 

"  June  20. — We  heard  before  the  morrow.  The 
next  morning,  when  the  da^j'u  began  to  break  again, 
a  horseman  galloped  hastily  up  to  the  door.  I  was 
in  my  mother's  room  ;  we  were  both  dressed.  We 
had  neither  of  us  slept,  I  looked  out.  It  was  Ro- 
ger Drayton.  My  Mother  sat  up  on  the  bed,  when 
I  had  persuaded  her  to  rest. 

"  '  I  will  go  down  and  ask,'  I  said. 

"  '  We  will  go  together,  Lettice,'  said  she. 

"  Then  came  a  cry  from  one  of  the  maids. 

"  '  Perhaps  it  is  poor  Margery,'  I  said.  For  Mar- 
gery had  come  to  stay  with  us  since  we  returned. 
It  comforted  us  to  keep  together,  all  of  us  who  had 
kindred  at  the  field. 

"  My  Mother  shook  her  head. 

"  She  knelt  down  one  moment,  and  drew  me  doAvn 
beside  her,  by  the  bedside,  heart  against  heart,  and 
murmured, — 

"  '  Thy  will,  not  mine  !  Oh,  help  us  to  say  it. 
For  His  sake  Avho  said  it  first.' 

"  Then  she  rose,  and  with  a  firm  step  went  dowr 
into  the  hall  with  me. 


+00 


TEE  BRA YTONS  AND 


"  She  held  out  lier  hand  to  Roger  when  she.  saw- 
fa  im. 

"  His  face  spoke  evil-tidings  only  too  plainly. 

"  '  There  has  been  a  battle,'  she  said. 

"  '  At  Naseby,  Lady  Lucy,'  he  replied. 

"  '  Was  the  victory  for  the  king  or  not  ?'  she  ask- 
ed ;  unable  to  utter  the  question  uppermost  on  her 
heart  and  mine. 

"  '  There  was  hard  fighting  on  both  sides,'  he  re- 
plied. 'The  king  and  Prince  Rupert  have  gone 
westward  towards  Wales.' 

"I  could  hear  that  his  voice  trembled. 

" '  Then  the  king  has  lost,'  she  said.  '  '  But  it  was 
not  to  tell  us  this  you  came.     Who  is  hurt  ?  ' 

"  He  hesitated  an  instant. 

"  '  It  is  Harry  !'  she  exclaimed.  '  You  have  come 
to  summon  us  to  him.  Is  the  wound  severe  ?  Is 
there  hope  ?     Can  w^e  go  to  him  at  once  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  pause,  and  a  dreadful  irresponsive 
silence  between  each  of  her  questions.  He  answer- 
ed only  the  last, — 

"  '  He  will  be  brought  to  you.  Lady  Lucy.  They 
are  bringing  him  now.' 

"At  once  the  whole  depth  of  her  sorrow  opened 
beneath  her.  Not  an  instant  too  soon.  For  the 
words  had  scarcely  left  Roger's  lips  when  the  heavy 
regular  tramj)  of  men  bearing  a  burden  echoed 
through  the  silence  of  the  morning  outside,  and 
paused  at  the  porch. 

"My  Mother  took  my  hand,  and  led  me  forward. 

" '  He  must  not  come  home  un welcomed  !'  she 
Baid. 


THE  BAVENANTS.  40 1 

"  For  an  instant  I  feared  she  had  not  yet  grasped 
Roger's  meaning.  For  this  awful  burden  they  were 
bearing  was  not  Ilarry^  I  knew.  No  welcomes 
would  ever  greet  him  more.  But  I  had  not  fath- 
omed her  sorrow  nor  her  strength. 

"  She  met  tlie  bearers  at  the  door.  They  stood 
with  uncovered  heads,  liaving  laid  down  what  they 
"bore  on  the  stone  seat  of  tlie  porch.  They  were 
mostly  old  servants  of  the  family. 

"  '  My  friends,  I  thank  you,'  she  said.  '  You  have 
done  all  you  could.  But  not  there.  On  the  place 
of  honour.     He  was  worthy.' 

"  And  she  motioned  them  to  the  dais  at  the  head 
of  the  Hall,  where  the  heads  of  our  house  are  wont 
to  receive  the  homage  of  their  retainers. 

"  Silently  they  bore  him  there,  and  laid  their  sa- 
cred burden  gently  down.  She  thanked  them  again 
for  their  good  service.  And  then  as  silently  they 
withdrew.  I  saw  many  a  rough  hand  lifted  to 
brush  away  the  tears.  But  she  did  not  weep.  She 
stood  motionless,  with  clasped  hands,  beside  the 
bier,  and  murmured  to  herself  again  and  again,  in  a 
low  voice,-^ 

"  '  He  was  worthy.' 

"  Then,  turning  with  her  own  sweet,  never-for- 
gotten courtesy  to  Roger,  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him  again,  and  said, — 

"  '  You  did  kindly  to  come  and  tell  us.  He  al- 
Avays  honoured  you.' 

"  He  held  her  hand,  and  said  rapidly,  as  if  uncer- 
tain of  the  firmness  of  his  own  voice, — 

" '  X  was  near  him  at  the  last,  and  he  niade  mg 
34* 


402 


THE  DRA  YTOKS  AND 


promise  to  see  you,  r  I  could  not  have  dared  to 
come.' 

"  She  looked  up  with  trembling,  parted  lips,  list- 
ening for  more. 

"  '  He  made  me  promise  to  tell  you  he  had  little 
pain  and  no  fear,'  Roger  said,  in  a  low  voice.  '  And 
he  gave  me  this  for  you,  and  said,  "  Tell  my  mother 
these  words  of  hers  have  often  helped  me  to  believe, 
through  all  these  evil  days,  that  God  is  living  and 
commanding  stilL  But,  more  than  all  words,  tell 
her  my  faith  in  God  has  been  kept  unquenched  by 
the  thought  of //er,ve//."  ' 

"  She  took  the  packet  from  him.  It  was  a  little 
book,  with  Scriptures  and  prayers  written  in  it  by 
her  own  hand,  given  to  Harry  when  he  was  a  boy. 
On  the  crimson  silk  cover  she  had  embroidered  for 
it,  was  one  stain  of  a  deejjer  crimson.  As  she  open- 
ed it,  a  little  well-worn  leaf  dropped  out,  with  a 
child's  prayer  on  it  she  had  written  for  him  when 
first  he  went  to  school. 

"  When  she  saw  it,  the  thought  of  the  hero  dying 
on  the  battle-field  for  the  good  cause  vanished,  and 
in  its  place  came  the  memory  of  the 'little  hands 
clasped  on  her  knees  in  prayer. 

"  And  withdrawing  her  hand  from  Koger,  a  sud- 
den quiver  passed  through  all  her  frame,  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  me,  she  sobbed, — 

"  '  My  boy,  my  boy  !  O  Lettice,  it  is  Harry  we 
have  lost !     It  is  our  Harry  !' 

"  When  I  looked  up  again  Roger  was  at  the  door. 
It  seemed  to  me,  from  the  glance  he  gave  he  was 
w^aiting  to  say  something  more.     And  I  resolved, 


THE  DA  VEX  A  NTS. 


403 


cost  what  It  might,  to  hear  it.  We  led  my  Mother 
into  the  nearest  chamber,  and  then  leaving  her  with 
the  maidens,  I  went  back  to  the  Hall. 

"  Roger  was  still  waiting  in  the  porch. 

"  He  came  forward  when  he  saw  me. 

"  '  Did  he  say  anything  more  ?'  I  asked. 

"  He  hesitated  an  instant, 

"  He  said,  '  The  Draytons  and  the  Davenants 
might  have  to  combat  one  another  in  these  evil 
times,  but  that  we  should  never  distrust  each  other, 
and  that  he  never  had  distrusted  one  of  us.' 

"  He  said  so  to  me,  the  last  thing  before  he  left 
us.     I  said  ;  '  And  that  was  all  ?' 

" '  The  battle  swept  on ;  I  had  to  mount  again,' 
he  said,  '  and  I  could  not  leave  my  men.' 

"  '  You  saw  him  no  more,'  I  said.  '  You  could 
not  even  stay  to  Avatch  his  last  breath  !' 

"  The  moment  I  had  ixttered  them  I  felt  there  was 
something  like  reproach  in  my  words,  and  I  would 
have  recalled  them  if  I  could. 

"  '  I  saw  hini  no  more  xintil  the  fighting  was  over,' 
he  said.  '  Then  I  came  back  and  found  him  ;  and 
we  brought  him  home.  It  was  all  we  could  do,'  he 
added;  'and*it  was  little  indeed.' 

"  '  I  am  sure  you  did  all  you  coixld,  Roger,'  I  said ; 
for  I  feared  I  had  wounded  him.  '  I  should  always 
be  sure  you  would  do  all  you  could  for  any  of  us.' 

" '  Should  you,  indeed !'  he  said.  '  God  knows  I 
would.' 

"  And  there  was  a  tremor  and  a  depth  of  pleased 
surprise  in  his  tones  that  startled  me,  and  I  could 
not  look  up. 


404 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


" '  Would  to  God  I  could  do  anything  to  comfort 
Lady  Lucy  or  you,'  he  said. 

" '  No  one  can  comfort  her,  Roger,'  I  said  ;  and 
the  tears  I  had  been  trying  to  put  back  choked  my 
voice,  '  Harry  was  everything  to  her.  He  was  every- 
thing to  us  all.    No  one  will  ever  comfort  her  more.' 

" '  You  will  comfort  her,  Lettice,'  he  said,  with 
that  quiet  commanding  way  he  has  sometimes. 
'  God  gives  it  you  to  do ;  and  He  will  give  you  to 
do  it.' 

"  And  as  he  ceased  speaking,  and  I  went  back  to 
my  Mother,  I  felt  as  if  there  were  indeed  a  strength 
through  which  I  could  do  anything  that  had  to  be 
done. 

'•^  July  1. — Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  has  come  with 
tidings  of  my  Father  and  my  brothers. 

"  They  are  in  the  West,  save  the  two  younger, 
who  went  across  the  Borders  after  the  battle  of 
Marston  Moor,  and  have  joined  Montrose  in  the 
Scottish  Highlands,  deeming  that  the  king's  cause 
will  best  rally  there. 

"  The  good  cause  is  low ;  lower  than  ever  before. 
Soon  after  that  fatal  day  at  Naseby  the  town  of 
Bridgewater  surrendered  to  General  Fairfax. 

"  Prince  Rupert  (with  such  courage  as  one  miglit 
expect,  I  think,  from  a  chief  of  plunderers)  thereon 
counselled  the  king  to  make  peace.  But  His  Maj- 
esty, never  so  majestic  as  in  adversity,  said,  'That 
although,  as  a  soldier  and  a  statesman,  he  saw  no 
prospect  but  of  ruin,  yet,  as  a  Christian,  he  knew 
God  would  never  forsake  his  cause,  and  suffer  rebels 
to  prosper ;  that  he  knew  his  obligations  to  be,  both 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


405 


in  conscience  and  honour,  neither  to  abandon  God's 
cause,  to  injure  his  successors,  or  forsake  his  friends. 
Nevertheless,  for  himself  (he  said)  he  looked  for 
nothing  but  to  die  with  honour  and  a  good  con- 
science ;  and  to  his  friends  he  had  little  prospect  to 
offer,  but  to  die  in  a  good  cause,  or,  what  was  worse, 
to  live  as  miserable  in  maintaining  it  as  the  violence 
of  insulting  rebels  could  make  them.' 

"What  promises,  or  royal  orders,  could  bind 
men,  with  any  soul  in  them,  to  their  sovereign  as 
words  like  these  ?  Least  of  all  those  who,  like  us, 
are  bound  to  the  cause  by  having  given  up  our  best 
for  it.  Nothing,  my  Mother  says,  makes  a  thing 
so  precious  to  us  as  Avhat  we  suffer  for  it.  Indeed, 
nothing  now  seems  able  to  kindle  her  to  anything 
like  life,  save  aught  associated  with  that  sacred 
cause  for  which  Harry  died. 

"Sir  Launcelot  saith,  moreover,  that  the  rebels 
have  been  base  enough  to  lay  bare  to  the  eyes  of  the 
common  people  of  London  the  private  letters  from 
His  Majesty  to  the  queen,  found  in  his  cabinet  on 
the  field  at  Naseby.  And  that  these  letters  contain 
things  which  have  even  lost  the  king  some  old  loyal 
friends.  Sorry  friendship,  indeed,  or  loyalty,  to  be 
moved  by  discoveries^  made  only  through  treachery 
and  breach  of  confidence,  which  no  gentleman  would 
practice  to  save  his  life. 

"But  there  is  one  thing  Sir  Launcelot  hinted  to 
me  which  I  dare  not  breathe  to  my  Mother,  He 
said  there  was  reason  enough  why  Roger  was  near 
Harry  when  he  fell ;  for  it  was  by  the  hand  of  one 
of  the  Ironsides,  beyond  doubt,  that  he  died. 


^o6  THE  DRA  YTONS,  ETC. 

"But  never  by  Roger's  hand!  Or,  if  possibly- 
such  a  curse  could  have  been  suffered  to  fall  on  one 
like  Roger,  it  must  have  been  unknown  to  him.  Of 
this  I  am  as  sure  as  of  my  life. 

"  Sir  Launcelot  said  that  Roger's  hand  was  wont 
to  be  a  little  too  ready  to  be  raised.  Ungenerous 
of  him  to  say  it,  and  yet  too  true.  SloAvly  roused ; 
but  once  roused,  blind  to  all  results. 

"  How  bitter  his  vain  repentance  would  be  if  this 
terrible  thing  were  possible,  and  he  once  came  to 
know  it. 

"  How  bitter  and  how  vain  ! 

"But  even  if  it  were  possible,  and  he  never  knew 
it,  but  we  knew  it,  what  a  gulf  from  henceforth  for 
ever  between  us  and  him. ! 

"  I  cannot  breathe  this  to  my  Mother.  And  yet, 
if  Sir  Launcelot's  fears  could  have  any  groimd,  it 
would  seem  a  treachery,  if  ever  Roger  came  to  us 
again  to  let  her  touch  in  welcome  the  hand  that 
dealt  that  blow  ! 

"  I  know  not  what  to  do.  It  is  the  first  perplex- 
ity I  ever  knew  in  which  I  could  not  fly  to  her  for 
aid  and  counsel. 

"  What  a  child  I  have  been. 

"  What  a  child  I  am  ! 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  our  Lord  thought  of  His 
disciples  being  perplexed  and  bewildered  at  all,  as  I 
am.,  when,  just  before  He  went  away.  He  called 
them  '  little  children  ?'  Can  it  be  possible  that  He 
meant.  Come  to  me,  as  little  children  to  their  moth- 
er; when  you  want  wisdom,  come  to  Me!" 


Chapter   XI. 


OLIVE  S     STORY. 


HE  first  trustworthy  tidings  wc  had  of 
the  battle  of  Naseby  were  from  Dr.  An- 
tony.    I  saw  him  coming  hastily  across 
the   fields   from  the  direction  of  Dave- 
nant  Hall. 

It  was  very  early  in  the  morning.  The  village 
had  been  stimng  through  the  previous  afternoon 
with  uneasy  rumours,  and  I  had  not  slept.  I  was 
watching  the  light  in  the  window  of  Lady  Lucy's 
oratory,  and  thinking  how  she  and  Lettice  had 
watched  there  together  that  terrible  night  so  long 
ago,  saying  collects  for  Roger,  and  how  Lettice  had 
hastened  to  us  in  the  morning,  on  her  white  palfrey 
with  the  welcome  tidings  that  Sir  Launcelot  would 
recover.  And  now  how  far  we  were  from  each 
other  !  What  a  sea  between  us  !  Two  moats,  (the 
moonlight  was  shining  on  ours  just  below  me,) 
drawbridges,  and  fortifications.  But  deeper  and 
stronger  than  all  the  moats  and  walls  in  the  world 
lay  between  us  the  memories  of  those  bitter  years 

(407) 


4o8 


THE  DRAY  TONS  AND 


of  -war,  and  ever-widening  misconception  and  divi- 
sion.    Yet  I  felt  sure  Lettice  loved  us  still. 

And  as  I  was  thus  looking  and  thinking,  I  saw 
Dr.  Antony  coming  hastily  down  the  road  from  the 
stile  which  led  across  the  fields  to  the  Hall,  where  I 
had  parted  from  Harry  Davenant  that  night  when 
he  brought  the  tidings  of  Lord  Strafford's  execution, 
and  would  not  come  in. 

.  My  first  impulse  was  to  rush  down  the  stairs  and 
unbar  the  door.  But  many  things  held  me  back.  A 
presentiment  that  the  news  he  brought  might  be 
such  as  there  was  no  need  to  fore-date  by  hurrying 
to  meet  it;  an  uncomfortable  recollection  of  Job 
Forster's  letter,  and  of  that  conversation  in  which  I 
had  said  nothing  right. 

I  went,  therefore,  to  summon  Aunt  Dorothy  as 
head  of  the  household.  She  had  so  many  prepara- 
tions to  make,  that  Dr.  Antony's  hand  was  on  the 
great  house-bell  long  before  she  was  ready.  Nothing 
so  slow  she  said  as  hurry,  besides  its  being  a  proof 
of  the  impatience  of  the  flesh.  She  would  even 
fold  up  scrupulously  the  clothes  she  took  off,  faith- 
ful to  her  maxim,  that  we  should  always  leave 
everything  as  if  we  might  never  return  to  it. 

The  bell  rang  again. 

I  went  to  see  if  Aunt  Gretel  was  more  capable  of 
being  hastened.  She,  dear  soul,  was  sympathizing, 
excited,  and  agitated  beyond  my  utmost  desires,  for 
she  could  lay  her  hands  on  nothing  she  wanted.  So 
that  I  had  to  return  to  Aunt  Dorothy,  who,  by  that 
time,  was  ready;  and  fceiing  how  cold  and  trem- 
bling my  hand  was  as  sheJ-ook  it  to  lead  mo  down- 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


409 


Btairs,  she  laid  her  other  ou  it  with  an  unwonted 
demonstration  of  tenderif.ess,  and  said, — 

"  Child,  we  can  neither  hasten  the  Lord's  steps 
nor  make  them  linger.  But  He  will  do  right." 
There  was  strength  in  her  words,  but  almost  as 
much  to  me  in  the  tones,  which  were  tremulous, 
and  in  the  cold  touch  of  her  hand,  which  showed 
that  the  blood  at  her  heart  stood  as  still  as  mine. 

We  went  down  together  in  time  to  meet  Dr."  An- 
tony just  as  he  entered  the  Hall. 

My  Father  was  wounded,  not  dangerously,  only 
so  as  to  render  him  incapable  of  further  service  in 
the  Held,  at  least  at  present.  His  right  arm  was 
broken.     Roger  was  coming  home  with  him. 

I  wondered  that  Dr.  Antony  seemed  so  heavy  at 
heart,  to  bring  tidings  which  made  my  heart  leap 
with  thankfulness.  What  could  be  better  than  that 
Roger  was  unhurt,  and  that  my  Father  had  received 
a  slight  wound  just  sufficient  to  keep  him  at  home 
with  us  ? 

Then  it  flashed  on  me  in  what  direction  I  had 
seen  him  coming. 

"  Dr.  Antony  !"  I  said,  "  there  is  sorrow  for  the 
Davenants  ! "  And  then  he  told  us  how  Harry 
Davenant  had  fallen. 

We  had  little  time  for  bewailing  him,  for  the 
household  had  to  be  roused,  and  refreshment  and  a 
bed  prepared  for  ray  Father. 

I  had  scarce  ever  seen  Roger  so  cast  doAvn  as  he 

was   about  Harry  Davenant's  death.     One  of  the 

noblest   gentlemen  the  king  had   on   his  side,  he 

thought  so  pure,  and  true,  and  brave.     If  all  had 

35 


^  1  o  THE  DRA  YTONS  A^TD 

been  like  him  there  had  been  no  war,  and  no  need 
for  it.  "  And,"  said  Roger,  "  I  always  looked  for  the 
day  to  come  when  Ilari-y  Davenant  would  understand 
us.  For  we  were  fighting  for  the  same  thing, 
though  on  opposite  sides — for  England  and  her  old 
laws  and  liberties ;  for  a  righteous  kingdom.  And 
I  always  thought  one  day  he  would  see  where  it 
could  be  found,  and  where  it  could  no/." 

Roger  could  not  stay  with  us  long.  But  before- 
he  went,  Hany  Davenant  was  buried  very  quietly 
in  the  old  vault  of  the  Davenants  in  Netherby 
church. 

It  was  at  night,  for  the  liturgy  had  been  abolished 
six  months  before,  and  was  unlawful,  and  the  Vicar 
risked  something  in  suffering  it  to  be  read  even  by 
Lady  Lucy's  chaplain,  as  it  was.  And  we  honoured 
him  and  Placidia  for  the  ventiire.  Roger  had  asked 
to  be  one  of  the  bearers.  Aunt  Gretel,  Rachel  For- 
ster,  and  I,  waited  for  them  in  the  church-porch. 
Slowly  through  the  silent  summer-night  came  the 
heavy  tramp  of  the  bearers,  imtil  they  paused  and 
laid  their  burden  down  iinder  the  old  Lych  Gate. 
Then,  while  they  came  up  the  churchyard,  we 
crept  quietly  back  into  the  church,  dark  in  all  parts 
except  where  the  funez-al  torches  lit  up  a  little  space 
around  the  open  vault,  and  threw  strange  flickering 
shadows  on  the  recumbent  forms  of  the  dead  of 
Harry  Davenant's  race,  knight  and  dame,  priest 
and  crusader.  It  made  them  look  as  if  they  moved 
to  meet  him ;  for  none  of  the  living  men  of  his 
house  were  there,  although  of  all  his  race  none  had 
fallen  more  bravely. 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


4IZ 


Behind  the  bier  followed  four  women  closely  veil- 
ed. The  iSrst,  by  the  height  and  movement,  I  knew 
was  his  Mother,  and  at  her  side,  as  the  sacred  words 
were  read,  knelt  Lettice.  I  think  in  times  of  over- 
whelming joy  or  sorrow,  when  no  words  could  fa- 
thom the  depths  of  the  heart,  when  almost  every 
human  voice  would  fall  outside  it  altogether,  or  jar 
rudely  if  it  reached  within,  there  is  a  wonderful 
comfort  in  the  calm  of  those  ancient  immutable  li- 
turgies. They  are  a  channel  worn  deep  by  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  ages.  Their  changelessness  links 
them  to  eternity,  and  seems  thus  to  make  room  for 
the  sorrow  which  overflows  the  narrow  measures  of 
thought  and  time. 

"  Delivered  from  the  burden  of  the  flesh,"  "  are 
in  joy  and  liberty,"  "  not  to  be  sorry  as  men  with- 
out hope  for  them  that  sleep  in  Him,  that  when  we 
shall  depart  this  life,  we  may  rest  on  Ilim  as  our 
hope  is,  this  our  brother  doth."  How  tranquilly 
the  simple  words  sank  into  the  very  depths  of  the 
heart. 

All  the  more  precious  and  sacred,  doubtless,  for 
the  tender  sanctity  which  ever  invests  a  proscribed 
religion. 

Not  that  our  Puritan  faitli  is  without  its  liturgies. 
Older  than  England,  and  older  than  Christendom, 
fused  in  the  burning  heart  of  the  king  of  old,  war- 
rior, patriot,  exile,  conqueror,  and  penitent.  But  it 
is  a  perilous  thing  to  make  services  like  those  of  the 
Church  of  England,  dear  enough  alreadv  to  every 
faithful  heart  who  Las  used  them  from  infancy, 
dearer  still  by  making  them  dangerous.  I  never 
knew  how  I  loved  them  till  we  lost  them. 


412 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


And  as  that  night  the  sacred,  simple,  tima-hon- 
oured  words  fell  like  heavenly  music  among  the 
shadows  of  the  dim  old  church,  I  felt  as  if  the  de- 
cree which  made  them  unlawful,  and  the  grave  of 
the  brother  slain  at  Naseby,  were  slowly  mining  a 
gulf  which  could  never  be  crossed  between  the 
Draytons  and  the  Davenants. 

Alas,  alas  for  truth  !  or  at  least  for  us  who  fain 
would  ever  recognise  and  be  loyal  to  her,  when  she 
changes  raiment  with  error,  when  the  crown  of 
thorns  is  transferred  to  the  brows  of  her  enemies, 
and  the  martyrs  are  on  the  -wrong  side.  But  such 
transformations  have  not  hitherto  lasted  long,  and 
meantime  the  crown  of  thorns  may  irajDrint  its  les- 
sons even  on  those  who  wear  it  by  mistake. 

There  was  no  sound  of  loud  weeping.  But  when, 
for  the  last  time,  before  the  coffin  was  lowered  out 
of  sight.  Lady  Lucy  knelt  once  more  to  embrace  it, 
she  did  not  rise  until  Lettice  went  gently  to  lift  her 
thence ;  when  it  was  found  that  she  had  fainted, 
and  had  to  be  borne  away.  But  for  this,  Lettice 
would  probably  never  have  known  we  were  there. 
I  went  at  Roger's  bidding  to  see  if  I  could  render 
any  assistau,ce.  And  then  for  a  moment  Lettice 
drew  aside  her  veil,  and  with  a  suppressed  sob 
claspod  my  hands  in  hers,  and  murmured, — 

"  Thank  God,  Olive.  I  kneiv  you  would  all  feel 
with  us.  Pray  for  her  and  for  me,  Olive;  we  have 
no  one  like  him  left." 

Then  she  kissed  me  once,  and  hastened  on  after 
the  rest;  as  they  silently  went  back  through  the 
fields,  bearing  instead  of  the  corpse  of  the  son  the 
almost  lifeless  form  of  the  mother. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


4'3 


The  day  after  the  funeral  Roger  left  us  to  go  back 
to  the  army.  I  told  him  what  Lettice  had  said. 
And  he  seemed  more  hopeful  than  lie  had  been  for 
a  lone:  time  about  her  not  misunderstanding  or  for- 
getting  us. 

"  We  must  never  distrust  her  again,  Olive,"  he 
said.     "  She  has  trusted  us  all  through." 

It  was  strange  that  he  shoiild  thus  admonish  me^ 
for  it  was  only  Roger  who  ever  had  distrusted  her 
caring  still  for  us.  But  such  little  oblivions  are  the 
common  lot  of  sisters  situated  as  I  was.  I  was  far 
too  satisfied  with  his  conclusion  to  dispute  as  to  the 
way  he  reached  it. 

Yet  for  many  weeks  after  he  left  we  heard  noth- 
ing from  any  one  of  the  Davenants. 

Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  came  and  stayed  there  some 
days  at  the  beginning  of  July ;  and  again  I  was  tor- 
mented with  fears  that  he  had  been  poisoning  their 
hearts  with  some  evil  reports  of  us.  And  as  I  sat 
watching  by  my  Father's  bed-side,  many  a  time  I 
rejoiced  that  Roger  was  away,  so  that  he  could  not 
share  my  anxieties. 

It  so  happened  that  most  of  the  nursing  fell  on 
me,  to  my  great  thankfulness.  Aunt  Dorothy's 
sphere  was  governing  every  one  outside,  and  Aunt 
Gretel's  more  qgpecially  preparing  food  and  cooling 
drinks.  Dr.  Antony  was  pleased  to  say  there  was 
something  in  my  step  which  fitted  a  sick-room. 
Quiet  and  quick,  and  not  hasty.  And  in  my  voice, 
he  fancied,  too ;  cheerful,  he  said,  as  a  bird  singing, 
yet  soft  and  low. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  my  Father  naturally  liked 
35* 


^  1  ^  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

best  to  have  me  about  him  ;  me  and  Rachel  Fors* 
ter,  in  whose  presence  he  found  that  repose  she 
seemed  to  breathe  on  every  one.  As  if  she  had 
wings  invisible,  which  enfolded  a  Avarm,  quiet  space 
around  her,  like  a  hen  brooding  over  her  chickens. 
Rachel  Forster  and  Lady  Lucy,  of  all  the  women 
I  ever  knew,  had  most  of  this.  And  my  Father 
felt  it. 

One  day  Rachel  had  a  letter  from  Job,  written  a 
few  days  after  the  battle  of  Naseby. 

"We  began  marching  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  the  14th  of  June,"  he  wrote.  "  The  day 
before  we,  the  Ironsides,  had  come  with  General 
Ci'omwell  from  the  eastern  counties  to  our  army. 
They  had  gathered  after  him  like  Abi-Ezer  after 
Gideon.  The  horse  already  there  gave  a  mighty 
shout  for  joy  of  his  coming  to  them.  By  five  we 
were  at  ISTaseby,  and  saw  the  heads  of  the  enemy 
coming  over  the  hill.  Such  a  thing  as  they  call  a 
hill  in  these  parts.  A  broad  up  and  down  moor. 
We  fought  it  out  in  a  fallow  field,  a  mile  broad, 
near  the  top,  from  early  morning  till  afternoon.  It 
began  somewhat  like  the  day  at  Marston  Moor. 
They  came  on  first  up  the  hill.  Prince  Rupert  and 
the  plunderers  were  on  our  left,  charging  swift  and 
steady,  crying  out :  '  For  God  and^  Queen  Mary.' 
'  God  our  strength,'  cried  we.  They  broke  our  left, 
though  this  we  did  not  know  till  afterwards.  Our 
right,  that  is  we.  General  Cromwell's  horse,  fell  on 
their  left  and  drove  them  back,  flying  down  the  hill 
through  the  furze-bushes  and  rabbit-warrens.  The 
main  body,  horse  and  foot,  fought  hard,  breaking 


THE  DA  VEX-ANTS. 


415 


and  gathering  again,  like  the  sea  at  Lizard  at  turn 
of  tide.  This  raging  back  and  forward  lasted  till 
Prince  Rupert  s  horse  and  ours  came  back  from  the 
chase. 

"  The  difference  between  keej^ing  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments and  bi'eaking  them  tells  in  the  long  run. 
Plundering,  firing  villages,  and  slaughtering  inno- 
cents, shrinks  up  the  courage  of  men  after  a  time. 
Prince  Rupert's  men  could  charge  to  the  end  like 
devils,  but  they  could  not  rally  like  ours.  Neither 
the  prince's  nor  the  king's  word  can  bind  their  men 
together  again  to  stand  a  second  shock,  as  Oliver's 
word  can  rally  the  Ironsides.  This  difference  turn- 
ed the  day.  The  difference  between  keeping  the 
Ten  Commandments  (as  far  as  mortal  men  can)  and 
breaking  them.  The  king  rode  about  fearless  as  a 
lion  to  the  last.  '  One  charge  more  and  we  recover 
the  day,'  quoth  he.  But  there  was  no  power  in  his 
word  to  rally  them,  and  the  sun  was  still  high  when 
he  and  they  fled  headlong  into  Leicester,  and  we 
after  them. 

"But  the  Ten  Commandments  fought  against 
them  there  too.  '  The  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  Sisera."  There  was  no  night's  rest  for  the 
kins:  in  the  houses  he  had  seen  rifled  and  dishon- 
oured  but  a  few  days  before,  and  never  lifted  up  his 
voice  to  hinder  it.  And  on  and  on  lie  had  to  fly, 
to  Ashby-de-la-Zouch,  Wales,  and  who  knows 
where  ?  The  plunder  of  Leicester  lay  strewn  about 
the  fallow  field  at  Naseby,  where  we  camped  that 
night,  with  six  hundred  of  the  plunderers  dead. 
Yet  God  forbid  I  slander  the  dead.     They  fought 


4 1 6  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

like  true  men.  And  brave,  young  Master  Harry 
Davenanfc  was  among  them.  Belike  the  true  men 
fell ;  and  the  plunderers  fled  off  safe,  as  such  vermin 
do.  Until  the  Lord  and  the  Ten  Commandments 
take  them  in  hand  and  bring  them  to  account, 
"whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body. 

"  A  hundred  Irish  Papist  women  were  found  hang- 
ing about  the  battle-field,  armed  with  long  knives, 
and  speaking  no  Christian  tongue.  Poor  benighted 
savages  !  Very  strange  to  think  such  have  hus- 
bands, and  children,  and  hearts,  and  souls.  Yet 
belike  so  had  the  Canaanites.  These  things  are 
dark  to  me.  I  have  wrestled  sore  there  about,  bnt 
can  get  no  light  on  them. 

"  Two  or  three  days  after  the  battle  a  young  gen- 
tleman, a  preacher,  aged  some  thirty  years,  came 
amongst  the  army.  His  name  was  Richard  Baxter, 
a  puny  feeble  body,  marked  with  small-pox,  and 
bowed  and  worn  at  thirty  like  an  old  man.  Yet 
had  the  puny  body  good  quality  of  courage  in  it. 
Courage  of  the  soul,  burning  out  of  his  dark  eyes. 
Courage,  surely,  he  had  of  his  kind.  For  lie  came 
amongst  our  men,  flushed  and  strong  from  the  vic- 
torious fight,  and  exhorted  us  as  if  we  had  been  a 
pack  of  school-boys.  Called  us — the  Ironsides,  and 
Whalley's  and  Rue's  regiments  of  horse — '  liot- 
headed,  self-conceited  sectaries,'  Anabaptists,  Anti- 
nomians,  and  what  not — us  who  had  been  fighting 
the  Lord's  battles  for  him  and  the  like  of  him  these 
two  years  !  Took  our  camp  jokes  ill,  about  '  Scotch 
drijvines^  'Dissembling  men  at  Westminster,'  and 
'jjrj'es^byters,'     Called  us  profane;    us    who   had 


THE  DA  VF^^'A XTS.  ^  i  j 

paid  twelve-pence  fine  for  one  careless  oath  evei 
since  we  came  together, 

"  Ai-gued  witli  us,  dividing  his  discourse  into  as 
many  heads  as  Leviathan,  and  using  words  from 
every  heathen  tongue  under  the  sun.  If  we  had 
the  best  of  it,  called  us  levellers  and  fire-brands.  If 
we  were  silent  under  his  flood  of  talk,  thought  we 
were  beaten,  as  if  to  have  the  best  in  talk  were  to 
win  the  day.  As  if  an  honest  Englishman  was  to 
change  his  mind,  because  he  could  not,  all  in  a  mo- 
ment, see  his  way  out  of  Mr.  Baxter's  Presbyterial 
puzzles.  Scarcely  grateful,  I  think,  seeing  our  men 
had  once  asked  him  to  be  their  chaplain.  Some  of 
us  reminded  him  of  it,  and  he  said  he  was  sorry  he 
had  refused,  or  we  should  not  have  come  to  what 
we  are.  And  he  rebuked  us  sore,  and  called  us  out 
of  our  names  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  in  Latin  and 
Greek,  as  if  we  had  been  plunderers  and  malignants  ; 
us  of  General  Cromwell's  own  regiment.  Of  his 
courage  there  can  after  this,  I  think,  be  no  doubt. 
Nor  forsooth  of  our  patience.  And  he  hath  gone 
back  to  Coventry  and  spoken  glanders  of  the  '  sad 
state '  of  the  army  ! 

"  Sad  state  of  the  army  indeed,  where  every 
morsel  we  put  in  our  mouths  is  paid  for,  through 
which  every  modest  wencli,  if  she  were  as  fair  as 
Sarah,  can  walk,  if  she  had  need,  as  safe  as  past  her 
father's  door.  An  army  which  had  just  won  Nase- 
by,  by  the  strength  of  the  Lord  and  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments—where not  an  oath  is  heard — where 
psalms  and  prayers  rise  night  and  morning  as  from 
the  old  Temple — and  where  a  young  gentleman  like 


^  1 8  THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 

Mr.  Richard  Baxter,  coixld  come  and  go,  and  call 
the  soldiers  what  ill  names  he  chose,  without  hurt. 
For  a  godly  young  gentleman  we  all  hold  him  to 
be,  and  a  scholar,  and  honour  him  in  our  souls  as 
such,  and  for  the  chastening  hand  of  the  Lord  on 
the  poor  suffering,  puny,  brave  body  of  him,  al- 
though in  some  ways  he  and  the  likes  of  him  cost 
me  more  wrestlings  than  even  the  Irish  Papist  wo- 
men with  their  knives." 

Wherever  General  Cromwell  was  throughout  that 
summer,  there  continued  to  be  a  series  of  successes. 
Job's  letters  and  Roger's  were  records  of  castles 
stormed  or  surrendered,  sieges  raised  and  troops 
dispersed,  in  Devonshire  from  Salisbury  to  Bovey 
Tracey. 

On  the  4th  of  August,  Roger  wrote  of  the  dis- 
persing of  the  poor  mistaken  Clubmen ;  a  new  force 
of  peasants  who  had  gathered  to  the  number  of  two 
thousand  on  Hambledon  Hill,  in  Surrey.  Blind,  as 
my  Father  says  peasant  armies  mostly  are.  Aimt 
Gretel  turned  pale  when  she  heard  of  them,  and 
talked  of  dreadful  peasant  wars  in  Dr.  Luther's  time 
in  Saxony;  Dr.  Lutherdearly  loving  and  fighting,in 
his  way,for  the  peasants,  but  not  being  able  to  make 
them  understand  him,  like  Oliver  Cromwell   now. 

These  poor  fellows  had  gathered  like  brave  men 
in  the  West  to  defend  their  homes  from  Lord  Gor- 
ing's  band — "  the  child-eaters  "  as  some  called  them, 
the  most  lawless  and  merciless  among  the  Cavalier 
troops,  siirpassing  even  Prince  Rupert's,  whom  one 
of  their  own  called  afterwards,  "  terrible  in  plunder, 
and  resolute  in  running  away." 


THE  DAVENANT3.  419 

"  If  ye  offer  to  p  lunder  or  take  our  cattle, 
Be  you  assured  we'll  give  you  battle," 

"was  the  clubmen's  motto.  A  good  one  enough. 
But  in  time  they  became  hopelessly  involved  in 
political  plots,  of  "which  they  understood  nothing, 
demanded  to  garrison  the  coast-towns,  picked  out 
and  killed  peaceable  Posts,  fired  on  messengers  of 
peace  sent  by  General  Cromwell,  who  had  much 
pity  for  them,  and  finally  had  to  be  fallen  upon  and 
beaten  from  the  field.  "  I  believe,"  the  General  wrote 
to  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  "  not  twelve  of  them  were 
killed,  but  very  many  were  cut,  and  three  hundred 
taken — poor  silly  creatures,  whom  if  you  please  to 
let  me  send  home,  they  promise  to  be  very  dutiful 
for  time  to  come,  and  will  be  hanged  before  they 
come  out  again."  So  men  and  leaders  were  taken, 
and  the  army  dispersed,  and  came  not  out  again  ; 
and  the  land  all  around  had  quiet. 

But,  as  Job  Forster  said,  it  was  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments that  fought  best  for  us. 

The  king's  cabinet  at  Naseby,  with  all  the  false 
and  traitorous  letters  found  therein  in  his  hand- 
writing, did  more  to  undermine  his  power  than  a 
hundred  battles.  For  in  it  was  shown  how,  while 
solemnly  promising  to  make  no  treaties  with  Pa- 
pists, and  speaking  words  of  peace  at  Uxbridge, 
he  was  negotiating  for  six  thousand  Papist  soldiers 
from  Ireland,  and  for  more  than  ten  thousand  from 
across  the  seas  ;  that  he  had  only  agreed  to  call  the 
Parliament  Parliament  "  in  the  treating  with  them, 
in  the  sense  that  it  was  not  the  same  to  call  them 


4  20  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

BO,  and  to  acknowledge  them  so  to  be."  He  spoke, 
moreover,  of  the  gentlemen  who  gathered  around 
him  loyally  at  Oxford,  as  "  the  mongrel  Parlia- 
ment." So  that  many  of  his  old  friends  were  sore- 
ly aggrieved,  and  many  neutrals  began  to  see  that, 
call  men  by  what  titles  you  will,  there  can  be  no 
loyalty  where  there  is  no  truth. 

In  the  North  affairs  went  not  so  prosperously, 
though  there,  too,  reckless  ravaging  wrought  its 
own  terrible  cure  in  time.  For  six  weeks  Montrose 
with  his  Irish,  and  Highlanders,  and  some  English 
adventurers,  laid  Argyleshire  waste,  killing  every 
man  who  could  bear  arms,  plundering  and  burning 
every  cottage.  It  was  not  like  the  war  in  England, 
save  where  Prince  Rupert  and  Lord  Goring  brought 
the  savage  customs  of  foreign  warfare  in  on  us.  It 
was  a  war  of  clans,  bent  on  extirpating  each  other 
like  so  many  wild  beasts,  and  of  mountain-rob- 
bers set  on  carrying  away  as  much  spoil  as  they 
could  from  the  Lowland  cities,  and  on  inflicting  as 
much  misery  as  they  could  by  the  way  to  inspire  a 
profitable  terror  for  the  future.  Perth  was  sacked 
by  them,  and  Aberdeen,  and  Dundee. 

At  Kilsyth,  near  Stirling,  IMontrose  and  his  men 
killed  ten  times  as  many  of  a  Covenanted  army, 
against  which  they  fought,  as  fell  of  the  Cavaliers 
at  Naseby,  Six  hundred  lay  slain  at  ISTaseby ;  at 
Kilsyth,  six  thousand. 

And  the  king,  meanwhile,  speaking  of  this  robber 
chief  as  the  great  restorer  of  his  kingdom  and  sup- 
port of  his  throne,  with  never  an  entreaty  to  spare 
liis  countrymen  and  subjects. 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS. 


421 


Can  any  wonder  that  the  sheep  he  commissioned 
BO  many  hirelings  to  fleece,  robbers  to  plunder,  and 
wolves  to  slay,  would  not  follow  him  ? 

In  person,  indeed,  throughout  that  summer  of 
1645,  His  Majesty  was  pursuing  a  kind  of  warfare 
too  similar  to  that  of  Wallen  stein  or  Montrose.  It 
was  in  the  August  of  this  year,  scarce  two  months 
after  the  victory  of  Naseby,  that  the  war  surged 
up  nearer  us  at  Netherby,  than  at  any  other  time. 

The  king  had  fled  from  Naseby  to  Ragland 
Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of  Worcester  (an 
ingenious  gentleman  who  spent  his  living  in  seeking 
out  many  inventions).  There  he  held  his  court 
for  many  weeks ;  entertained  with  princely  state 
in  the  halls  of  the  grand  old  castle,  and  hunting 
deer  gaily  through  the  forests  on  the  banks  of 
the  Wye,  as  if  his  subjects  were  not  themselves 
in  his  quarrel  hunting  each  other  to  death  in  every 
corner  of  his  kingdom. 

Whilst  there  tidings  came  to  him  of  the  suc- 
cesses of  IMontrose,  and  he  endeavored  to  go  north- 
ward to  join  him  in  Scotland.  From  Doncaster, 
however,  he  fell  back  on  Newark,  turned  from  his 
purpose  by  the  Covenanted  army  of  Sir  David 
Leslie,  which  threatened  him  from  the  North.  And 
then  he  turned  his  f;teps  to  us,  to  the  Fens  and  the 
Associated  Counties,  which  General  Ci"omwell's 
care,  and  their  own  fidelity  to  the  ParlL^ment,  had 
kept  hitherto  high  and  dry  out  of  reach  of  the  war, 
save  for  some  few  stray  foraging  j)arties.  During 
this  August  1645  we  learned,  however,  at  His  Ma- 
jesty's hands,  the  meaning  of  civil  war.  The 
26 


4-22 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


eastern  counties  lay  exposed  to  attack,  having  sent 
their  tried  men  westward  with  Cromwell  and  Fair- 
fax ;  so  that  we  had  nothing  but  our  own  more  re- 
cent foot-levies  to  defend  us. 

The  king  dashed  from  Stamford  through  Himt- 
ingdonshire  and  Cambridgeshire,  ravaging  the 
whole  country  as  he  passed,  and  detaching  flying 
squadrons  to  plunder  Bedfordshii-e  and  Hertford- 
shire, as  far  as  St.  Albans.  Several  times  he  threat- 
ened Cambridge. 

On  the  24th  of  August,  he  took  Huntingdon  by 
assault,  and  four  days  afterwards,  by  the  28th,  was 
safe  again  within  the  lines  of  Oxford,  with  large 
store  of  booty  seized  from  the  very  cradle  and 
stronghold  of  the  Parliamentary  army. 

No  doubt  the  Cavaliers  had  fine  triumphing  and 
merry-making  over  the  spoils  at  Oxford.  But  tons, 
around  whom  lay  the  empty  granaries  and  roofless 
homesteads,  and  the  wrecked  and  burned  villages 
from  which  these  spoils  came,  the  lesson  was  not 
one  of  submission  or  of  terror,  but  of  resistance 
more  resolute  than  ever.  Prince  Rupert  had  been 
teaching  this  lesson  for  three  years  in  every  corner 
of  the  realm.  His  Majesty  taught  it  us  in  person. 
A  lesson  of  resistance  not  desperate  but  hopeful ; 
for  we  could  not  but  deem  that  a  king  who  would 
indiscriminately  ravage  whole  counties  of  his  king- 
dom, must  look  on  it  as  an  alien  territory  already 
lost  to  his  crown. 

Many  sins;  no  doubt,  may  be  laid  to  the  charge 
of  the  Parliament  and  its  army.  But  of  two  sins  ter- 
ribly common  in  civil  strife  they  were  never  guilty; 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


423 


indiscriminate  plunder  and  secret  assassination. 
The  ruins  and  desecrations  the  ComraonAvealth  sol- 
diers Avrouglit  in  cluirches  and  cathedrals,  Avill  tell 
their  tale  against  us  to  many  a  generation  to  come. 
The  ruins  the  Royalist  troopers  wrought  were  in 
poor  men's  homes  long  since  repaired.  The  dese- 
crations they  wrought  were  also  in  homes,  ruins 
and  desecrations  of  temples  not  made  with  hands, 
and  never  to  be  repaired,  but  recorded  on  sacred 
inviolable  tables,  more  durable  than  any  stone, 
though  not, to  be  read  on  earth,  at  least  not  yet. 

The  village  of  Netherby  lay  just  beyond  the  edge 
of  the  royal  devastations.  But  the  cattle  all  around 
us  were  seized,  with  all  the  com  that  was  reaped. 
And  at  night  the  sky  was  all  aglow  with  the  flames 
of  burning  cottages,  and  corn  and  hay-stacks.  Our 
own  bams  were  untouched,  but  my  Father  gave 
orders  at  once  to  begin  husbanding  our  stores  by 
limiting  our  daily  food,  looking  on  what  was  spared 
to  us  as  the  granary  of  the  Avhole  destitute  neigh- 
bourhood through  the  coming  winter,  and  as  the 
seed-store  for  the  following  spring.  Our  sheds  and 
out-houses,  meantime,  were  fitted  up  for  those  who 
had  been  driven  from  their  homes.  Eveiy  cottage 
in  Xetherby  gave  shelter  to  some  homeless  neigh- 
bour. Rachel  Forster's  became  an  orj)han-house. 
Yet  it  was  the  private  lesson  which  was  taught  our 
own  family  through  this  foray  of  His  Majesty's  that 
is  engraven  most  deeply  in  my  memory. 

Throughout  the  summer.  Cousin  Placidia  had 
been  raoi'e  than  ever  a  subject  of  irritation  and  dis- 
tress to  Aunt  Dorothy.     The  successes  of  Montrose 


4H 


THE  LRATTONS  AND 


in  Scotland,  followed  by  the  plunderings  of  the 
king's  troops  in  our  own  counties,  had  once  more 
caused  her  to  feel  much  "  exercised  "  as  to  which 
was  the  right  side.  In  February,  after  the  execu- 
tion of  Archbishop  Laud,  Mr.  NichoUs  had  obedi- 
ently substituted  the  Directory  of  Worship  for  the 
Common  Prayer,  sorely  trying  thereby  Aunt  Do- 
rothy's predilections  for  unwritten,  or  rather  un- 
printed  prayers;  Mr.  Nicholls'  supplications  not 
having,  in  her  opinion,  either  unction  or  fire,  being 
in  fact,  she  said,  nothing  but  the  old  Liturgy 
minced  and  sent  up  cold.  Her  only  comfort  was 
in  the  trust  that  sifting  days  were  at  hand.  (The 
Triers  had  not  yet  been  appointed.)  But  what 
vexed  Aunt  Dorothy's  soul  even  more  than  any 
ecclesiastical  "  trimmings,"  was  what  she  regarded 
as  the  gradual  eating  up  of  Placidia's  heart  by  the 
rust  of  hoarded  wealth.  Placidia  had  at  that  time 
an  additional  reason  to  justify  herself  for  any  amount 
of  straitening  and  sparing,  in  the  expectation  of  the 
birth  of  her  first  child.  This  prospect  opened  a  new 
field  for  her  economies  and  for  Aunt  Dorothy's 
anxieties.  Even  the  general  devastations  of  the 
country,  which  opened  every  door  and  every  heart 
wide  to  the  suiferers,  only  eifected  the  narrowest 
possible  opening  in  Placidia's  stores.  Her  health, 
she  said,  obviously  prevented  her  receiving  any 
strangers  into  the  house  ;  and  it  was  little  indeed 
that  a  poor  parson,  with  a  family  to  provide  for, 
and  nothing  but  income  to  depend  on,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  receiving  scarcely  any  tithes  the  next 
season;  could  have  te  spare.     Such  as  she  had,  said 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


425 


she,  sae  gave  willingly.  There  was  a  stack  of  hay 
but  slightly  damaged  by  getting  heated.  And 
there  was  some  preserved  meat,  a  little  strong  per- 
haps from  keeping,  but  quite  wholesome  and  palat- 
able with  a  little  extra  salt.  These  she  most  gladly 
bestowed.  Aunt  Dorothy  Avas  in  despair,  and 
made  one  last  solemn  appeal. 

"  Placidia,"  she  said,  "  a  child  will  shut  up  your 
heai't  and  be  a  curse  to  you,  if  you  let  it  shut  your 
doors  against  the  poor ;  until  at  last  who  knows 
what  door  may  be  shut  on  you  ?  " 

But  Placidia  was  impregnable. 

"  Aunt  Dorothy,"  she  said,  with  mild  imperturba- 
bility, "  everything  may  be  made  either  a  curse  or  a 
blessing.  But  to  those  who  are  in  the  covenant 
everything  is  a  blessing." 

"  Sister  Gretel,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy,  afterwards, 
"  I  see  no  way  of  escape  for  her.  The  mercies  of 
God's  providence  and  the  doctrines  of  His  grace 
freeze  on  that  poor  woman's  heart,  until  the  ice  is 
so  thick  that  the  sunshine  itself  can  do  nothing  but 
just  thaw  the  surface,  and  make  the  next  day's  ice 
smoother  and  harder." 

Aunt  Gretel  looked  up. 

"  Never  give  up  hope,  sister,"  said  she.  "  Our 
good  God  has  more  weapons  than  we  wot  of,  and 
more  means  of  grace  than  ai"e  counted  in  any  of  our 
Catechisms  and  Confessions.  Sometimes  He  can 
warm  the  coldest  heai-t  with  the  glow  of  a  new  hu- 
man love  until  all  the  ice  melts  away  from  Avithin. 
And  the  touch  of  a  little  child's  hand  has  opened 
many  a  door,  where  the  Master  has  afterwards  come 
36* 


426  THE  D  RA  YTONS  AND 

in  and  sat  down  and  supped.  When  the  Saviour 
wanted  to  teacli  the  Pharisees,  He  set  in  the  midst 
of  them  a  little  child." 

Aunt  Dorothy  shook  her  head. 

"Children  have  dragged  many  a  godly  man  back 
again  to  Egypt,"  said  she.  "  Many  a  rope  which 
binds  good  men  tight  to  the  car  of  Mammon  is 
twisted  by  very  little  hands." 

And  the  proposition  being  unanswerable,  the  dis- 
cussion ended. 

A  few  nights  aftei'wards  we  were  roused  by  a 
suspicious  glare  in  the  direction  of  the  Parsonage. 
The  next  morning  early  we  went  to  see  if  anything 
had  happened  there. 

As  we  jDassed  through  the  village,  we  heard  the 
news  quickly  enough. 

Just  after  dusk,  on  the  evening  before,  a  party  of 
Royalist  troopers  had  appeared  at  the  Parsonage 
gates.  The  house  stood  alone,  at  some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  village,  at  the  end  of  the  glebe- 
fields.  The  captaij.  of  the  little  troop  said  they 
were  on  their  way  to  join  His  Majesty  at  Oxford  ; 
but  seeing  a  light,  they  were  tempted  to  seek  the 
hospitality  of  Mistress  Nicholls,  of  which  they  had 
heard  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Poor  Placidia's  protestations  of  jjoverty  were  of 
little  avail  with  such  guests.  They  politely  assured 
her  they  were  used  to  rough  fare,  and  would  them- 
selves render  any  assistance  she  ax-quired  toAvai'ds 
preparing  the  feast.  Whereupon  they  put  up  their 
horses  in  the  stables,  supplied  them  liberally  with 
corn  from  the  granaries,  seized  the  fattest  of  the 


TEE  BAVEXANTS. 


427 


poultry,  and  sti-ung  them  in  a,  tempting  row  before 
the  kitclien  fire,  which  they  piled  into  huge  dimen- 
sions with  any  wooden  articles  that  came  first  to 
hand,  cnairs  and  chests  included ;  the  contents  of 
these  chests  being  meanwhile  skillfully  rifled,  and 
all  that  was  most  valuable  in  them  of  plate,  linen, 
or  silk,  set  apart  in  a  heap  "  for  the  king's  service." 

The  supper  being  prepared,  they  insisted  on  their 
host  drinking  His  Majesty's  health  in  the  choicest 
wines  in  his  cellar.  The  captain  had  been  informed, 
he  said,  that  Mr.  Nicholls  had  been  induced  (reluc- 
tantly, of  course,  as  he  perceived  from  the  fervent 
protestations  of  loyalty)  to  disuse  the  Liturgy,  and 
even  to  contribute  of  his  substance  to  the  rebel 
cause.  He  felt  glad,  therefore,  to  be  able  to  give 
liim  this  opportunity  of  proving  his  unjustly  suspect- 
ed fidelity,  and  of  contributing,  at  the  same  time,  of 
his  substance  to  His  Majesty's  service,  by  means  of 
the  portion  of  his  goods  which  they  would  the 
next  day  convey  to  His  Majesty's  head-quarters  in 
the  loyal  city  of  Oxford,  and  thus  save  it  from  being 
misapplied  in  this  disafiected  country,  in  a  manner 
which  Mr.  Nicholls'  loyal  heart  must  abhor.  This 
we  heard  from  one  of  the  frightened  serving- wench- 
es, who  had  escaped  towards  morning,  and  spread 
the  news  through  the  village. 

As  the  night  passed  on,  they  grew  riotous,  and 
were  with  difficulty  roused  from  their  carouse  by 
the  captain,  to  see  about  getting  their  plunder  to- 
gether before  dawn.  They  poured  on  the  ground 
what  wine  they  could  not  drink,  set  fire  (whether 
by  accident  or  on  purpose  was  not  known)  to  the 


428 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


large  cora-stack  whilst  hunting  about  the  sheds  and 
stables  for  cattle  and  horses  ;  till  finally  the  inmates 
were  thankful  to  get  them  away  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, although  they  took  with  them  all  the  beasts 
they  could  drive  and  all  the  booty  they  could 
carry. 

The  sympathy  in  the  village  was  not  deep,  and 
Aunt  Dorothy  and  I  went  on  in  silence  to  the  Par- 
sonage, to  give  what  help  and  comfort  we  could. 
Neither  Aunt  Dorothy  nor  I  spoke  a  word  as  we 
hastened  uj)  the  rising  ground  towards  the  house. 

The  homely  ruins  of  the  farm-yard  moved  me 
more  than  many  a  stately  ruin.  The  remains  of  the 
corn-stack,  the  flames  of  which  had  alarmed  us  in 
the  night,  stood  there  black  and  charred  ;  the  stables 
were  empty  and  the  cattle-sheds;  the  house-dog 
was  hanged  to  the  door  of  one  of  them  ;  the  yard 
was  strewn  with  trampled  corn,  which  the  spar- 
rows and  starlings,  in  the  absence  of  the  privileged 
poultry,  were  making  bold  to  pick  up  ;  and  the  si- 
lence of  the  deserted  court  was  made  more  dismal 
by  the  occasional  restless  lowing  of  a  calf,  which 
was  roaming  from  one  empty  shed  to  another  in 
search  of  its  mother. 

We  went  into  the  house.  The  kitchen  was  full 
of  the  serving-wenches,  and  of  some  of  the  more 
curious  and  idle  in  the  village,  who  were  condoling 
with  each  other,  by  making  the  worst  of  the  disas- 
ter. The  hearth  was  black  with  the  cinders  of  the 
enormous  fire  of  the  night  before,  and  the  floor  was 
strewn  with  broken  pieces  of  the  chairs  and  chests 
which  had  helped  to  kindle  it,  and  with  fragments 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


429 


of  the  feast.  In  a  corner  of  the  settle  by  the  cold 
hearth  sat  Placidia,  as  if  she  were  stupified,  with  her 
hands  clasped  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  them. 

When  she  saw  Aunt  Dorothy,  she  turned  away, 
and  said, — 

"  Don't  reproacli  rae.  Aunt  Dorothy ;  I  can't 
bear  it." 

"  Didst  thou  think  I  came  for  that  ?  "  said  Aunt 
Dorothy.     "  But  belike  I  deserve  it  of  thee." 

And  with  a  voice  a  little  sharpened  by  the  feel- 
ing she  strove  to  repress,  Aunt  Dorothy  sent  the 
curious  neighbours  to  the  right-about,  and  disposed 
of  the  two  serving-wenches,  by  telling  them  the 
very  fowls  of  the  air  were  setting  such  lazy  sluts  as 
they  were  an  example,  and  despatching  them  to 
gather  up  the  scattered  corn  in  the  yard. 

Then  she  came  again  to  Placidia,  and  taking  her 
clasped  hands  in  hers,  said, — 

"  I've  learnt  many  things,  child,  this  last  hour.  I 
nidged  thee  a  Pharisee,  and  belike  I've  been  a  worse 
one  myself.  I've  sat  on  the  judgment-seat  this  many 
a  day  on  thee.  But  I'm  off  it  now.  And  may  the 
Lord  grant  me  grace  never  to  climb  up  there 
again.  I've  wished  for  some  heavy  rod  to  fall  and 
teach  thee.  And  now  it's  come,  it  can't  smite  thee 
heavier  than  it  does  me.  Forgive  me,  child,  and  let 
us  both  begin  again," 

Placidia  looked  up,  and  meeting  the  honest  eyes 
fixed  on  her,  not  in  scorn  but  in  entreaty,  she 
sobbed, — 

"  I  shall  never  have  heart  to  begin  again,  Aunt 
Dorothy." 


43° 


TR^  DBA  YTONS  AND 


"  To  begin  wbat  again  ?  "  said  Aunt  Dorotliy. 

"  Contriving  and  saving  to  make  up  all  the  things 
I  have  lost,"  replied  Placidia.  "  I've  been  years 
heaping  it  together,  and  it's  all  gone  in  a  night !  " 

Aunt  Dorothy  looked  sorely  puzzled,  between  her 
desire  to  be  charitable  and  her  horror  of  Placidia's 
misreading  of  the  dispensation. 

"  Begin  that  again,  my  dear,"  she  said,  at  last. 
"  Nay ;  thou  must  never  begin  that  again.  It  ^dll 
never  do  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence  like  that." 

Placidia  uncovered  her  face,  but  as  her  eyes  rest- 
ed on  the  desolation  around  her,  she  covered  them 
again,  and  sobbed, — 

"  Just  when  there  was  to  be  one  to  save  it  all  for, 
and  make  it  worth  v/hile  to  deny  oneself." 

"  Nay,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy ;  "  that's  the  mercy. 
That's  precisely  the  mercy.  The  Lord  will  not  let 
the  child  be  a  curse  to  thee.  He  will  have  it  a 
blessing ;  so  He  says  to  thee  as  plain  as  can  be,  I 
give  thee  a  treasure,  not  to  make  thee  rage  and 
stint  and  grudge,  but  to  teach  thee  to  love  and  serve 
and  give,  not  to  make  thee  poor,  but  to  make  thee 
rich.  And  He  will  go  on  teaching  thee  till  thou 
openest  thy  heart  and  learnest,  and  thy  burden  falls 
off,  and  thy  heart  leaps  up,  and  thou  shalt  be  free. 
I  know  it  by  the  way  my  heart  is  lightened  now. 
He's  smitten  me  down  for  my  sitting  in  judgment 
on  thee.  Not  that  I'm  safe  never  to  climb  that  seat 
again.  One  is  there  before  one  knows,  and  the 
black-cap  on  in  a  moment.  S^me  one  is  always 
near,  I  troAV,  to  help  us  up." 

And   tmniing  from  Placidia,  she  proceeded  to  a. 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS. 


•43  » 


quiet  survey  of  the  nuns,  which,  under  her  brisk 
and  discriminating  hands,  with  such  help  as  I  could 
give,  soon  began  to  show  some  signs  of  order. 

The  fire  was  lighted ;  the  calf  despatched  to 
Netherby  to  be  fed;  sundry  fragments  of  chairs 
and  chests  to  the  village  carpenter,  to  be  mended  ; 
the  broken  meat  put  into  two  baskets, 

"  This  is  for  the  household,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  and  that  for  the  fatherless  childi'cn  at  Rachel  For- 
ster's.  One  of  the  maids  can  take  it  at  once,  Placi- 
•dia,  when  she  leads  away  the  calf." 

Placidia  was  at  length  quite  roused  from  her  stu- 
por. She  looked  at  Aunt  Dorothy  as  if  she  thought 
she  were  in  league  with  the  plunderers, 

"  Me  send  meat  to  Rachel  Forster's  orphans  !"  she 
said  faintly ;  "  a  poor  plundered  woman  like  me !  " 

"  Better  begin  at  once,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Do- 
rothy ;  "  the  fatherless  are  God's  little  ones.  Better 
o-ive  the  treasure  to  them.  You  see  our  bags  have 
holes  in  them," 

At  that  moment  Mr.  !N"icholls  returned.  Placidia 
appealed  to  him  for  his  usual  confirmation  of  her 
opinions. 

"  Dear  heart,"  he  said  ruefully,  "  Belike  Mistress 
Dorothy  is  right.  It's  of  no  use  fighting  against 
God.  Who  knoweth  if  He  may  turn  and  repent 
and  leave  a  blessing  behind  Him." 

"  Nay,  Master  Nicholls,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  not  that  toay.  It's  of  no  use  trying  to  escape  in 
that  way.  You  must  let  go  altogether  first,  or  the 
Almighty  will  never  take  hold  of  you.  It's  hoping 
for  nothing  again.     If  thou  and  Placidia  will  send 


^3  2  -  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

this  to  the  orphans,  ye  must  send  it  because  it  haa 
been  given  to  you,  and  because  they  want  it  moro 
than  you  do.  Because  thou  wast  an  orphan,  Placi- 
dia,"  she  added,  tenderly,  "  and  He  has  not  failed  to 
care  for  thee.  Take  heed  how  ye  slight  His  staff 
or  His  rod.  Both  have  been  used  plainly  enough 
for  thee.  I'll  divide  the  stuiF,"  she  concluded, 
"  and  you  must  settle  what  to  do  with  it  yourselves, 
afterwards." 

And  insisting  on  Placidia's  resting  up-stairs  while 
she  subjected  the  contents  of  the  chests  strewn 
about  the  chamber-floor  to  the  same  process  of  divi- 
sion, she  left  the  house  before  dusk  restored  to  some- 
thing like  order,  with  two  significant  heaps  of 
clothing  on  the  bed-chamber,  and  tAVO  significant 
baskets  of  provisions  in  the  kitchen,  to  speak  what 
parables  they  might  during  the  night  to  the  con- 
sciences of  Placidia  and  Mr.  Nicholls. 

But  before  the  morning  other  teachers  had  been 
there.  Death  and  Anguish — those  merciful  curses 
sent  to  keep  the  w^orld,  which  had  ceased  to  be 
Eden,  from  becoming  a  sensual  Elysium,  idle,  self- 
ish, and  purposeless — visited  the  house  that  night. 
Another  life  was  ushered  into  the  world  under  the 
shadow  of  Death  itself.  In  the  morning  Placidia 
lay  feebly  rejoicing  in  the  infont-life  for  which  her 
own  had  been  so  nearly  sacrificed.  Rejoicing  in  a 
gift  which  had  cost  her  so  much,  and  which  was  to 
cost  her  so  much  more  of  patient  sacrifices,  toil  and 
watching,  sacrifices  for  which  no  one  would  especial- 
ly admire  her,  and  for  which  she  would  not  admire 
herself;  rejoicing  as  she  had  never  rejoiced  in  any 


TKE  DA  VENANTS. 


433 


possession  before.  Not  by  any  supernatural  effort 
of  virtue,  but  by  the  simple  natural  fountain  of 
motherly  love  which  had  been  opened  in  her  heart. 

One  of  the  first  things  she  said  was  to  Kachel, 
who  was  watching  with  her  through  the  next 
night.  Very  softly,  as  Rachel  sat  by  her  bed-side 
with  the  baby  on  her  knee,  Placidia  said, — 

"  Strange  such  a  gift  should  have  been  given  to 
me  and  not  to  thee." 

"And,"  said  Rachel  (when  she  told  me  of  it),  "I 
could  not  answer  her  all  in  a  moment,  for  there  are 
seas  stronger  and  deeper  than  those  outside  our 
dykes  around  our  hearts.  And  it's  not  safe,  even  in 
the  quietest  weather,  opening  the  cranny  to  let  in 
those  tides.  So  I  said  nothing.  And  in  a  few  mo- 
ments Mistress  Nicholls  spoke  again,  '  For  thou  art 
good  and  worthy,  Rachel,'  said  she,  '  and  it  would 
be  no  great  wonder  if  the  Lord  gave  thee  the  best 
He  has  to  give.' 

"  Then  I  understood  what  she  meant,  and  my  heart 
was  nigh  as  glad  as  if  the  child  had  been  given  to 
me.  For  I  thought  there  was  a  soul  new  born  to 
God  as  a  little  child,  meek  and  lowly.  The  Lord 
had  led  her  along  the  hardest  step  on  the  way  to 
Himself,  the  first  step  down.  And  she  said  no 
more.  I  smoothed  her  pillow,  laid  the  babe  beside 
her,  and  she  and  it  fell  asleep.  But  I  sat  istill  and 
cried  quietly  for  joy.  And  the  next  morning,  when 
the  light  broke  in,  Mistress  Nicholls  looked  up  and 
saw  those  two  heaps  iMistress  Dorothy  had  set  apart, 
and  then  she  looked  down  on  the  babe,  and  mur- 
mured as  if  to  herself, — 
37 


^^54  THE  DRAYT0N8  AND 

" '  Poor  motherless  little  ones !  God  has  given 
me  thee  and  spared  me  to  thee.  The  poor  mother- 
less babes,  they  shall  have  the  things.' 

"And  then,"  pursued  Rachel,  "I  turned  away 
and  cried  again  to  myself  half  for  gladness,  and 
half  for  trouble.  For  I  thought  sure  the  Lord's  a- 
going  to  take  her,  poor  lamb,  if  she's  so  changed  as 
that." 

But  Aunt  Dorothy,  when  Rachel  narrated  this, 
although  she  wiped  her  eyes  sympathetically,  at  the 
same  time  gave  her  head  a  consolatory  shake  and 
said, — 

"Never  fear,  neighbour,  never  fear,  not  yet. 
Depend  on  it,  the  old  Enemy  will  have  a  fight  for 
it  yet.  Depend  on  it,  there's  a  good  deal  of  work 
to  be  done  for  her  in  this  world  yet,  before  she's 
too  good  to  be  left  in  it." 

lettice's  diaky. 

''Davenani  Hall,  Twelfth  Night,  1645-6.— Only 
four  years  since  that  merry  sixteenth  birthday  of 
mine,  when  all  the  village  were  gathered  in  the 
Hall,  and  Olive  and  I  gave  the  garments  to  the  vil- 
lage maidens  of  my  own  age,  and  in  the  evening 
Roger  stayed  to  help  kindle  the  twelve  bonfires. 

"  And  now  we  are  walled  and  moated  out  from 
the  village  and  from  the  Manor  as  we  were  in  the 
old  days  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  when  the  Dave- 
nants  first  took  possession  of  these  lands,  and  built 
the  old  ruined  keep,  where  the  gateway  is  (whence 
they  afterwards  removed  t,o  this  abbey),  to  overawe 


THE  DAV.ENANTS. 


435 


the  Saxon  village,  where  the  Draytons  even  then 
lived  in  the  old  Manor.  I  wonder  if  there  is  any- 
thing left  of  the  old  contentions  in  Saxon  and  Nor- 
man blood  now.  The  rebel  army  is  so  much  com- 
posed, they  say,  both  of  officers  and  men,  of  the 
stout  old  Saxon  yeomanry,  and  the  traders  in  the 
towns ;  whilst  ours  is  officered  from  the  old  baronial 
castles,  by  gentlemen  with  the  old  Norman  histori- 
cal names.  How  many  of  the  higher  gentry  and 
nobility  are  loyal  has  been  proved  these  last  six 
months,  since  fatal  Naseby,  by  the  sieges  (and, 
alas !  by  the  stormings  and  surrenders)  of  at  least 
a  score  of  old  castles  and  mansions,  from  Bristol, 
surrendered  on  the  11th  of  September  by  Prince 
Rupert  to  Bovey  Tracey  in  the  faithful  "West. 
Thank  Heaven,  they  gave  Oliver  Cromwell  and  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax  much  trouble,  Basing  Hall  especi- 
ally. In  future  days,  when  the  king  shall  enjoy  his 
own  again  (as  he  surely  will),  I  hold  such  a  black- 
ened ruin  will  be  a  choicer  possession  to  a  gentle- 
man's family  than  a  palace  furnished  regally.  The 
rebels  called  Basing  House  Basting ,  for  the  mischief 
it  did  them.     And  our  men  called  it  Loyalty. 

"  Roger  Drayton  hath  shared,  no  doubt,  in  many 
of  these  sieges.  So  stern  in  his  delusion  of  duty,  I 
suppose,  if  this  brewer  of  Huntingdon  commanded 
him,  he  would  not  scruple  to  plant  his  reble  guns 
against  us.  '  Thine  eye  shall  not  spare,'  they  say, 
in  their  hateful  cant.  Sir  Launcelot  says  they  have 
been  chasing  His  Sacred  Majesty  from  place  to 
place  like  a  hunted  stag  ;  that  ]\Ir.  Cromwell, 
vsrhom  Roger  loves  above  king  and  friend,  never 


4.36  THE  BRA  TTONS  AND 

sets  on  any  great  enterprise  without  having  a  '  texC 
to  lean  on !  That  before  storming  Basing  Hall,  he 
passed  the  night  in  prayer,  and  that  the  text  he  es- 
pecially '  rested  on'  for  that  achievement  was  Psalm 
cxviii.  8  :  '  They  that  make  them  are  like  unto  them^  so 
is  every  one  that  trusteth  in  theniP  as  if  we  Royalists 
were  Canaanites,  idolaters,  Papists,  I  know  not 
what.  Fancy  burning  down  a  corn-stack  to  a 
psalm-tune,  or  setting  out  on  a  burglary  to  a  text. 
Yet  what  is  it  better  to  burn  down  loyal  gentle- 
men's houses  about  their  ears,  from  one  end  of  Eng- 
land to  another.  It  is  all  Conscience ;  this  dread- 
ful Moloch  of  Conscience !  It  was  the  one  weak 
point  of  the  Draytons  always. 

"  Sir  Launcelot  Trevor  came  here  a  week  since  to 
see  if  anything  can  be  done  to  strengthen  the  forti- 
fications. My  Father  was  in  Bristol  when  it  was 
stormed,  and  has  followed  the  king  ever  since ;  two 
of  my  brothers  are  in  Ireland,  seeing  what  can  be 
done  there ;  two  fled  beyond  the  seas  after  the  de- 
feat of  the  gallant  Marquis  of  Montrose  last  Septem- 
ber at  Philipshaugh,  near  Selkirk ;  and  two  lie  on 
that  fatal  Rowton  Heath,  where  on  September  the 
23rd  the  king's  last  army,  worth  the  name,  was  bro- 
ken and  lost. 

"  We  have  made  sacrifices  enough  to  endear  the 
royal  cause  to  us.  I  suppose  this  old  house  will  be 
the  next.  For  Harry  said  it  would  never  stand  a 
siege.  But,  oh,  if  I  could  only  be  sure  Sir  Launce- 
lot is  mistaken  in  what  he  says  about  Roger  giving 
Harry  his  death-blow,  much  of  the  I'est  would  seem 
light.     I  have  never  yet  told  my  Mother  of  this 


THE  DA  VEXANTS. 


437 


dread.  Sometimes  when  I  think  how  Roger  looked 
and  sjjoke  that  morning,  I  feel  sure  it  cannot  be 
true.  But  lie  always  said  it  was  so  wrong  to  be- 
lieve things  because  I  wished  them  true.  And  now 
the  more  I  long  to  believe  this  false,  the  less  I  seem 
able. 

"  Only  four  years  since  that  merry  sixteenth 
birthday,  when  I  was  a  child.  And  then  that  hap- 
py summer  afterwards,  when  the  world  seemed  to 
grow  so  beautiftil  and  great,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we 
were  to  do  such  glorious  things  in  it. 

"First  the  birthdays  seem  like  triumphal  col- 
umns, trophies  of  a  conquered  year.  Then  like 
mile-stones,  marking  rather  sadly  the  way  we  have 
come.  But  now  I  think  they  look  like  grave-stones, 
so  much  is  buried  for  ever  beneath  this  terrible  year 
that  is  gone.  Not  lives  only,  but  love,  and  trust, 
and  hope. 

"  I  said  so  to  ray  Mother  to-night,  as  I  wished 
her  good-night.  It  was  selfibh.  For  I  ought  to 
comfort  her.  But  she  comforted  me.  She  said, 
'  The  birthdays  will  look  like  mile-stones  again,  by- 
and-by,  sweetheart.  They  will  be  marked  on  the 
other  side,  "so  much  nearer  home,"  and  jjerhaps 
at  last  like  trophies  again,  marking  the  conquered 
years.' 

"  On  which  I  broke  down  altogether,  and  said, —  ' 

"  '  Oh,  Mother,  don't  speak  like  that,  don't  say 
you  look  on  them  like  that.  Think  of  me  at  the 
beginning  of  the  journey,  so  near  the  beginning.' 

" '  I  do,  Lettice,'  said  she.     *  I  pray  to  live,  for 
thy  sake,  every  day.' 
37* 


43^ 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


"  For  my  sake ;  only  for  my  sake.  For  her  own 
she  longs  to  go.     And  that  is  saddest  of  all  to  me. 

"For,  except  on  days  like  these,  when  I  think 
and  look  back,  I  am  not  always  so  very  wretched. 
It  is  very  strange,  after  all  that  has  happened.  But 
I  am  sometimes — rather  often — a  little  bit  happy. 
There  is  so  much  that  is  cheerful  and  beautiful  in 
the  world,  1  cannot  help  enjoying  it.  And  pleasant 
things  might  happen  yet. 

"  I  did  love  Harry,  dearly ;  nearly  better  than 
any  one.  I  do.  But  to  my  Mother  losing  him 
seems  just  the  one  sorrow  which  puts  her  on  the 
other  side  of  all  earthly  joys  and  sorrows,  with  a 
great  gulf  between,  so  that  she  looks  on  them  from 
afar  off,  like  an  angel. 

"  I  supjjose  there  is  just  the  one  thing  which  would 
be  the  darkening  of  the  whole  world  to  most  of  us, 
making  it  night  instead  of  day.  Other  people  leave 
that  sepulchre  behind.  It  is  grown  over,  and  in 
years  it  becomes  a  little  sacred  grass-grown  mound, 
or  a  stately  memorial  to  the  life  ended  there. 

"  But  to  one^  it  has  made  the  ivhole  earth  a  sepul- 
chre, at  which  she  stands  without,  weejiing  and 
looking  on, 

"  There  is  only  one  Voice  which  can  quiet  the 
heart  there. 

"  Tlte  day  after. — Sir  Launcelot  and  I  have  had 
high  words  to-day.  We  were  looking  from  the  ter- 
race towards  Netherby,  and  I  said  something  about 
old  times,  and  that  the  Dray  tons  would  probably 
resume  the  lands  they  had  lost  in  old  times  at  tho 
Conquest. 


THE  DAVENANTS. 


439 


"  I  fired  up,  and  said  not  one  of  the  Draytons 
would  ever  touch  anything  that  did  not  belong  to 
them.  '  They  were  not  of  Prince  Rvipert's  plunder- 
ers,' said  I. 

" '  No  doubt,'  said  he,  '  they  hold  by  a  better 
right  than  the  sword.'  And  with  nasal  solemnity, 
clasjDing  liis  hands,  he  added,  '  Voted,  it  is  written 
the  saints  shall  possess  the  land  ;  voted,  we  are  the 
saints.' 

" '  Sir  Launcelot,'  I  said,  '  you  know  I  hate  to 
hear  old  friends  spoken  of  like  that.' 

"  (When  I  had  written  bitter  things  myself  of 
them  but  yesterday  !  But  it  always  angers  me 
when  people  are  unfair.) 

"Here  he  changed  his  tone,  and  spoke  seriously 
enough.  Too  seriously,  indeed,  by  far.  He  said 
something  about  my  oj)inion  being  more  to  him 
than  anything  in  the  world.  And  when  I  went 
back  into  the  garden-parlour,  not  desiring  such  dis- 
course, he  was  on  his  knees  at  my  feet,  before  I 
could  raise  him,  pouring  out,  I  know  not  what  pas- 
sionate protestations,  and  saying  that  I  could  save 
him,  and  reclaim  him,  and  make  him  all  he  longed 
to  be,  and  was  not.  And  that  if  I  rejected  him, 
there  was  not  another  power  on  earth  or  heaven 
that  could  keep  him  from  plunging  into  perdition, 
which  perplexed  and  grieved  me  much.  For  I  do 
not  love  him.  Of  that  I  am  sure.  But  it  is  terrible 
to  think  of  being  the  only  baz'rier  between  any  hu- 
man soul  and  destruction.  And  I  am  half  afraid  tc 
tell  my  Mother,  for  fear  she  should  counsel  me  to 
take  Sir  Lauucelot's  conversion  on  me.     Because 


440 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


she  thinks  everything  of  no  weight  compared  with 
religion.  But  I  cannot  think  it  would  he  a  duty  to 
marry  a  person  for  the  same  reason  from  which  you 
might  become  his  godmother.  Besides,  if  I  did  not 
love,  what  real  power  should  I  have  to  save  ? 

'■^  At  night  (later). — I  have  told  my  Mother,  and 
she  says  that  last  consideration  makes  it  quite  clear. 
I  could  have  no  power  for  good,  unless  I  loved. 
And  I  do  not  love  Sir  Launcelot;  and  I  never 
could. 

"  At  the  same  time,  when  I  opened  my  heart  to 
her  about  this,  I  ventured  at  last  to  tell  her  what 
Sir  Launcelot  had  thought  about  Harry  and  Roger 
Drayton.     I  wish  I  had  told  her  weeks  ago. 

"  For  she  does  not  believe  it.  She  says  Roger 
would  never  have  come  and  told  us  -had  it  been  so. 
She  has  not  the  slightest  fear  it  can  be  true.  It 
has  lightened  my  heart  wonderfully.  Roger  is 
not  quite  just  in  saying  I  can  believe  in  anything  I 
wish. 

"  March. — A  biting  March  for  the  good  cause. 
On  the  14th  brave  Sir  Ralph  Hopton  surrendered 
in  Cornwall.  On  the  22nd  brave  old  Sir  Jacob 
Astley  (he  who  made  the  prayer  before  Edgehill 
fight,  'Lord,  if  I  forget  Thee  this  day,  do  not  Thou 
forget  me'),  was  beaten  at  Stow  in  GloiTcestershirc, 
as  he  was  bringing  a  small  force  he  had  gathered 
Avith  much  pains,  to  succour  the  king  at  Oxford. 
'You  have  now  done  your  work  and  may  go  to 
play,'  he  said  to  the  rebels  who  captured  him,  '  un- 
less you  fall  out  among  yourselves.'  Gallant  sen- 
tentious  old  veteran  that  he  is  I 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


441 


"  May. — His  Majesty  has  taken  refuge  with  the 
Scottish  army  at  Newark. 

"  We  marvel  he  should  have  trusted  his  sacred 
person  with  Covenanted  Presbyterians.  But  in 
good  sooth*  he  may  well  be  weary  of  wandering, 
and  may  look  for  some  pity  yet  in  his  own  fellow- 
countrymen.  Not  that  they  showed  much  to  the 
sweet  fair  lady  his  father's  mother. 

*'  We  hear  it  was  but  unwillingly  he  went  to  them 
at  night,  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  on  the  27th  of  April.  A  few  days  since 
he  left  the  shelter  of  Oxford,  faithful  to  him  so  long  ; 
riding  disguised  as  a  servant,  behind  his  faithful 
attendant  Mr.  Ashburnham.  Once  he  was  asked 
by  a  stranger  on  the  road  if  his  master  were  a  noble- 
man. '  No,'  quoth  the  king,  '  my  master  is  one  of 
the  Lower  House,'  a  sad  truth,  forsooth,  though 
spoken  in  parable.  It  is  believed  amongst  us  that 
he  would  fain  have  reached  the  eastern  coast,  thence 
to  take  ship  for  Scotland,  to  join  Montrose  and  the 
true  Scots  with  him.  For  his  flight  was  uncertain, 
and  changed  direction  more  than  once — to  Henley- 
on-Thames,  Slough,  Uxbridge ;  then  to  the  top  of 
Harrow  Hill,  across  the  country  to  St.  Albans, 
where  the  clattering  hoofs  of  a  farmer  behind  them 
gave  false  alarm  of  pursuit ;  thence  by  the  houses 
of  many  faithful  gentlemen  who  knew  and  loved 
him,  but  respected  his  disguise  and  made  as  though 
they  knew  him  not ;  to  Downham  in  Norfolk  ;  to 
Southwell,  and  thence,  beguiled  by  promises  some 
say,  others  declare  throwing  himself  of  his  own  free 
"will  like  a  prince  on  the  ancient  Scottish  loyalty, 


442  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

he  rode  to  Newark  into  the  midst  of  the  Earl  of 
Leven's  army. 

^'■August,  1646, — The  civil  war,  they  give  out 
now,is  over.  Every  gamson  and  castle  in  the  king- 
dom have  surrendered.  In  June,  loyal  Oxford ;  and 
now,  last  and  most  loyal  of  all,  on  the  19th  of  Au- 
gust, Ragland  Castle,  with  the  noble  old  Marquis 
of  Worcester,  who  hath  ruined  himself  past  all 
remedy  in  the  king's  service,  and  in  this  world  will 
scarce  now  find  his  reward. 

"  In  June,  Prince  Rupert  rode  through  the  land, 
and  embarked  at  Dover.  "Well  for  the  good  cause 
if  he  had  never  come.  His  marauding  ways  gave 
quite  another  complexion  to  the  war  from  what  it 
might  have  had  without  him.  His  rashness,  Harry 
thought,  lost  us  many  a  field.  His  lawlessness  in- 
fected our  army.  The  king  could  not  forgive  him 
his  surrender  of  Bristol  a  few  days  after  he  was  led 
to  believe  it  could  be  held  for  months.  But  in  this 
some  think  perchance  he  is  less  to  blame  than  else- 
where. Cromwell  and  the  Ironsides  were  there  and 
they  stoi-med  the  city,  and  it  seems  as  if  this  Crom- 
well could  never  be  baffled. 

"  With  Prince  Rupert  went  three  hundred  loyal 
gentlemen,  some  despairing  of  the  cause  at  home, 
others,  and  with  them  my  Father,  on  missions  to 
seek  aid  from  foreign  courts. 

'■'•  Fehruary^  1647. — The  Scottish  army  has  yielded 
him  up  ('  Bought  and  sold,'  His  Majesty  said  ;  others 
say  the  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  the  Scotch 
received  was  for  the  expenses  of  the  war,)  into  tb^ 
hands  of  the  English  Presbyterians  at  Newcast?^. 


THE  DA  VENA  NTS.  44  3 

"  March. — We  have  seen  the  king  once  more. 
My  Mother  has  heard  for  certain  the  true  cause 
why  the  king  was  given  up  by  the  Scotch  to  his 
enemies.  He  would  not  sign  their  blood-stained 
Covenant.  He  would  not  sacrifice  the  Church  of 
these  kingdoms,  with  her  bishops  and  her  sacred 
liturgy,  though  nobles,  loyal  men  and  true,  nay 
the  queen  herself,  by  letter,  entreated  him.  My 
mother  saith  he  is  now  in  most  literal  ti'uth  a 
martyr,  suffering  for  the  spotless  bride — our  dear 
Mother,  the  Church  of  England — and  for  the  truth. 
We  heard  he  was  to  arrive  at  Holmby  House  in 
Northamptonshire,  and,  weak  as  my  Mother  is, 
nothing  would  content  her  but  to  be  borne  thither 
in  a  litter  to  pay  him  her  homage.  I  would  not 
have  missed  it  for  the  world.  Numbers  of  gentle- 
men and  gentlewomen  were  there  to  welcome  him 
with  tears  and  prayers  and  hearty  acclamations. 
It  did  our  hearts  good  to  hear  the  hearty  cheers 
and  shouts,  and  I  trust  cheered  his  also.  The  rebel 
troopers  were  Englishmen  enough  to  offer  no  hin- 
drance. And  we  had  the  joy  of  gazing  once  more  on 
that  kingly  pathetic  countenance.  He  is  serene  and 
cheerful,  as  a  true  martyr  should  be,  my  mother 
says,  accepting  his  cross  and  rejoicing  in  it,  not 
morose  and  of  a  sad  countenance  as  those  who  feign 
to  be  persecuted  for  conscience  sake.  He  scorns  no 
blameless  pleasure  which  can  solace  the  weary  hours 
of  captivity,  riding  miles  sometimes  to  a  good  bowl- 
ing-green to  play  at  bowls,  an4  beguiling  the  even- 
ings with  chess  or  converse  on  art  with  Mr.  Har- 
rington or  Mr.  Herbert. 


444 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


"He  -will  not  suffer  a  Presbyterian  chaplain  to 
Bay  grace  at  his  table,  and  the  hard-hearted  jailers 
will  allow  no  other. 

"  Thank  heaven  the  common  people  are  true  to 
him  still,  as  they  took  him  from  Newcastle  to 
Holmby  House  the  simple  peasants  flocked  round 
to  see  him  and  bless  him,  and  to  feel  the  healing 
touch  of  his  saci-ed  hand  for  the  king's  evil.  Sir 
Harry  Marten,  a  rebel  and  a  republican,  made  a 
profane  jest  thereon,  and  said,  '  The  touch  of  the 
great  seal  would  do  them  as  much  good.'  But  no  one 
relished  the  scurrilous  jest.  And  the  blessings  and 
prayers  of  the  poor  followed  the  king  everywhere. 
Yes ;  it  is  the  common  people  and  the  nobles  that 
honour  true  greatness.  The  Scribes  and  Pharisees, 
I  am  persuaded,  sprang  from  the  middle-order  yeo 
men,  craftsmen,  chapmen.  "  Tithing  mint  and  de- 
vouring widows'  houses,"  are  just  base,  weeping,  un- 
punishable middle-station  sins.  The  troubles  of  this 
middle  class  are  wretched,  low,  carking  money- 
troubles.  The  sorrows  of  the  high  and  low  are 
natural  ennobling  sorrows  ;  bereavement,  pain,  and 
death.  It  is  the  sordid  middle  order  that  envies 
the  great.  The  common  people  reverence  them 
when  on  high  places,  and  generously  pity  them 
when  brought  low.  My  Mother  says,  belike  the 
sorrows  of  their  king  shall  yet  mova  the  honest 
heart  of  the  nation  to  a  reverent  pity,  and  thus 
back  to  loyalty,  and  so,  as  so  often  in  great  con- 
flicts, more  be  won  through  sufiering  than  through 
success. 

^^  April,  1647, — We  are  to  pay  our  last  penalty. 


THE  DA  TENANTS. 


445 


Our  old  hall  is  declared  to  be  a  perilous  nest  of 
traitors  and  cradle  of  insurrection.  A  rebel  garri- 
son is  to  be  quartered  on  us. 

"  Our  expedition  to  Holmby,  has  led  to  two  re- 
sults ;  it  offended  some  of  the  people  in  authority 
among  the  rebels,  and  thereby  caused  them  to  take 
possession  of  the  hall ;  and  it  so  taxed  my  mother's 
wasted  strength  that  she  is  unfit  for  any  journey, 
so  that  we  must  even  stay  and  suffer  the  presence 
of  these  insolent  and  rebellious  men  in  our  home. 

"  April,  Davenant  Hall. — Mr.  Drayton  hath  been 
here  to-day.  He  looked  pale  and  thin  from  the 
long  imprisonment  he  has  had,  and  he  hath  lost  his 
risrht  arm — a  sore  loss  to  him  who  ever  took  such 
pleasure  in  his  geometrical  instruments,  and  played 
the  viol-di-gambo  so  masterly. 

"  He  gave  a  slight  start  when  he  saw  my  mother, 
and  there  was  a  kind  of  anxious  compassionate  rev- 
erence in  his  manner  towards  her  which  makes  me 
uneasy.  I  fear  he  deems  her  sorely  changed,  and 
ofttimes  I  have  feared  the  same.  But  then  this 
mourning  garb  which  she  will  never  more  lay  aside, 
and  her  dear  gray  hair,  which  I  love,  put  back  like 
an  Italian  Madonna  from  her  forehead,  in  itself 
makes  a  difference.  Although  I  think  her  eyes 
never  looked  so  soft  and  beautiful  as  now.  The 
golden  hair  of  youtii,  and  all  its  brilliant  colour, 
seems  to  me  scarcely  so  fair  as  this  silver  hair  of 
hers,  with  the  soft  pale  hues  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Mr.  Drayton  asked  us  to  take  asylum  at  Neth- 
erby  Hall  till  such  time  as  we  join  my  father  else- 
where. My  mother  knows  what  Harry  thought, 
38 


^^6  THE  DRA  YTOXS  ANT) 

and  seems  not  averse  to  accept  his  hospitality.  I 
certainly  bad  not  thought  to  enter  old  Netherhy 
again  in  such  guise  as  this." 

olive's  recollections. 

The  old  house  seemed  to  gain  a  king  of  sacred- 
ness  when  it  became  the  refuge  of  that  dear  bereav- 
ed Lady  and  sweet  Lettice.  Lady  Lucy  was  much 
changed.  Her  voice  always  soft,  was  low  as  the 
soft  notes  in  a  hymn ;  her  step,  always  light,  was 
slower  and  feebler ;  her  hair,  though  still  abundant, 
had  changed  from  luxuriant  auburn  to  a  soft  silvery 
brown  ;  her  cheeks  were  worn  into  a  different  curve, 
though  still,  I  thought,  as  beautiful,  and  the  colour 
in  them  was  paler.  Everything  in  her  seemed  to 
have  changed  from  sunset  to  moonlight.  Her  voice 
and  her  very  thoughts  seem  to  come  from  afar; 
from  some  region  we  could  not  tread,  like  music 
borne  over  still  waters.  It  was  as  if  she  had  cross- 
ed a  river  which  severed  her  far  from  us,  which  she 
would  never  more  recross,  but  only  wait  till  the 
call  came  to  mount  the  dim  heights  on  the  other 
side.  Not  that  she  was  in  any  way  sad  or  uninter- 
ested, or  abstracted,  only  she  did  not  seem  to  belong 
to  us  any  more. 

I  wondered  if  Lettice  saw  this  as  I  did.  And  many 
a  time  the  tears  came  to  my  eyes  as  I  looked  at 
those  two  and  thought  how  strong  were  the  cords 
of  love  which  bound  them,  and  how  feeble  the 
thread  of  life. 

Aunt  Dorothy  welcomed  Lady  Lucy  with  as  true 


THE  LA  VENANTS. 


447 


a  tenderness  as  any  one.  The  silvery  hair  in  place 
of  those  heart-breakers — the  hair  silvered  so  sud- 
denly by  sorrow — softened  her  in  more  ways  than 
one.  One  thing,  however,  tried  her  sorely.  And  I 
much  dreaded  the  explosion  it  might  lead  to  if 
Aunt  Dorothy's  conscience  once  got  the  upper  hand 
of  her  hospitality. 

The  Lady  Lucy  always  had  a  little  erection  close- 
ly resembling  an  altar,  in  her  oratory  at  home, 
dressed  in  white,  with  sacred  books  on  it ;  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  A  Kempis,  Herbert,  and  others,  and  above 
them  a  copy  of  a  picture  by  Master  Albert  Durer, 
fiffurins^  our  Lord  on  the  Cross,  the  sufferinsr  thorn- 
crowned  form  gleaming  pale  and  awful  from  the  ter- 
rible noonday  darkness.  Before  this  solemn  picture 
stood  two  golden  candlesticks,  which  at  night  the 
waiting  gentlewomen  were  wont  to  light.  I  shall 
never  forget  Aunt  Dorothy's  expression  of  dismay 
and  distress  when  she  first  saw  this  erection,  one 
evening  soon  after  Lady  Lucy's  arrival.  She  mas- 
tered herself  so  far  as  to  say  nothing  to  Lady  Lucy 
then,  beyond  the  good  wishes  for  the  night,  and  di- 
rections as  to  some  possets  which  she  had  come  to 
administer. 

But  the  solemn  change  that  came  over  her  voice 
and  face  she  could  not  conceal.  And  afterwards 
she  solemnly  summoned  us  into  my  Father's  private 
room  to  make  known  her  discovery. 

"  An  idol,  brother  !  "  she  concluded,  "  an  abomi- 
nation !  At  this  moment,  probably,  idol-worship 
going  on  under  this  roof,  drawing  down  on  us  all 
the  lightnings  of  heaven  I " 


448 


THE  BRA  YTOXS  AND 


"  I  should  not  use  such  a  thing  as  a  help  to  devo- 
tion myself,  Sister  Dorothy,"  said  my  Father  ;  "  but 
what  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  Help  to  devotion  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  '  Thou 
shalt  not  make  any  graven  image,  nor  the  likeness 
of  any  thing.'  Sweep  them  away  with  the  besom 
of  destruction,  and  cast  the  idols  to  the  moles  and 
to  the  bats." 

"  Sister  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  you  would  not  have 
me  take  a  hammer,  and  axe,  and  cords,  and  drag 
this  piece  of  painted  work  from  the  Lady  Lucy's 
chamber  before  her  eyes." 

"  Thine  eye  shall  not  spare,"  she  replied,  solemnly. 

"  But  in  the  first  place  I  must  know  that  it  is  an 
idol  to  Lady  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  and  that  she  does 
bow  down  to  it." 

"  Subtle  distinctions,  brother ;  traffickings  with 
the  enemy.  Heaven  grant  they  prove  not  our  ruin, 
as  of  Jehoshaphat  before  us." 

For  Aunt  Dorothy,  although  she  had  forsaken  the 
judgment  seat  for  private  offences,  would  still  have 
deemed  it  an  impiety  to  abandon  it  in  cases  of  heresy. 

"Sister  Dorothy,"  interposed  Aunt  Gretel,  "in 
my  country  good  men  and  women  do  use  such 
things  and  do  not  become  idolaters  thereby  in 
their  private  devotion  and  in  the  churches." 

"Belike  they  do,  sister  Gretel,"  rejoined  Aunt 
Dorothy,  drily.  "  The  hand  that  would  have  pulled 
down  the  Epistle  of  St.  James  might  well  leave 
some  idols  standing.  An  owl  sees  letter  than  a 
blind  man.  But  it  is  no  guide  to  those  whose 
eyes  are  used  to  day. 


THE  DAVENANTS. 


449 


This  profane  comparison  of  Dr.  Luther  to  an  owl 
dismayed  Aunt  Gretel,  so  as  to  throw  her  entirely 
out  of  the  conflict,  which  finished  with  an  ordinance 
from  my  Father  that  liberty  of  conscience  should 
be  the  order  of  his  'household ;  and  a  j^rotest  from 
Aunt  Dorothy  that,  be  the  consequences  what  they 
may,  she  would  not  suiFer  any  immortal  soul  within 
her  reach  to  go  the  broad  road  to  ruin  without 
warning. 

Which  threat  kept  us  in  anxious  anticipation. 
We  took  the  greatest  care  not  to  leave  the  combat- 
ants alone ;  one  so  determined  and  the  other  so  un- 
conscious of  danger. 

At  last,  however,  the  fatal  moment  arrived. 

It  "was  early  in  April,  a  fortnight  after  Lady  Lucy 
and  Lettiee  took  shelter  under  our  roof. 

Dr.  Anthony  had  arrived  from  London  with  tid- 
ings \vhich  made  us  all  very  uneasy. 

The  Presbyterian  majority  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, believing  the  civil  Avar  ended,  were  very 
eagei  tO  disband  the  army  which  had  ended  it,  but 
which,  being  mostly  composed  of  Independents, 
they  dreaded  even  more  than  the  king. 

In  ]7ebruary,  they  had  voted  that  no  officer  un- 
der Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  should  hold  any  rank  higher 
than  a  colonel,  intending  thereby  to  displace  Oliver 
Crom.rcll,  Ireton,  Ludlow,  Blake,  Skippon,  and 
Algernon  Sydney,  and,  in  short,  every  commander 
whom  the  army  most  tnisted,  and  under  whom 
their  victories  had  been  gained. 

They  were  to  be  disbanded,  morover,  without  re- 
ceiving their  pay,  now  due  for  more  than  half  a 
38* 


450  THE  BRA  YT0N8  AND 

year.  It  was  also  proposed  that  such  of  the  sol- 
diers as  were  still  kept  together  should  be  sent  to 
Ireland  to  settle  matters  there,  under  new  Presby- 
terian commanders,  instead  of  those  whom  they 
knew  and  trusted. 

The  indignation  in  the  army  was  deep.  But  it 
was  as  much  under  the  restraint  of  law,  and  was 
expressed  in  as  orderly  a  way,  as  if  the  army  had 
been  a  court  of  justice.  The  regiments  met,  delib- 
erated, remonstrated,  and  drew  up  a  petition,  de- 
manded arrears  of  pay,  and  refused  to  go  to  Ireland 
save  under  commanders  they  knew.  "  For  the  de- 
sire of  our  arrears,"  they  said,  "  necessity,  especial- 
ly of  onr  soldiers,  enforced  us  thereunto.  We  left 
our  estates,  and  many  of  us  our  trade  and  callings 
to  others,  and  forsook  the  contentments  of  a  quiet 
life,  not  feaiihg  nor  regarding  the  difficulties  of  war 
for  your  sakes ;  after  Avhich  we  hoped  that  the  de- 
sii-es  of  our  hardly  earned  wages  would  have  been 
no  unwelcome  request,  nor  argued  us  guilty  of  the 
least  discontent  or  intention  of  mutiny." 

No  one,  my  Father  said,  could  deny  the  truth  of 
this.  The  Parliament  army  had  not  eked  out  with 
plunder  their  arrears  of  pay. 

On  the  3d  of  April  three  soldiers — Adjutators  (or 
Agitators,  as  some  called  them) — had  been  sent 
with  a  respectful  but  determined  message  to  the 
House  of  Commons.  General  Cromwell  (attending 
in  his  place  in  the  House  in  spite  of  the  plots  there 
had  been  during  the  past  weeks,  as  he  knew,  to  com- 
mit him  to  the  Tower)  rose  and  spoke  at  length  of 
the  danger  of  drivii^g  the  army  to  extremities. 


THE  DAVEN'ANTS. 


45 » 


And  now  Dr.  Antony  came  with  the  tidings  that 
General  Cromwell  was  at  SaftVon  Waklen,  bearing 
to  the  army  the  promise  of  indemnity  and  arrears. 
He  brought  also  a  brief  letter  from  Roger,  saying 
that  now  all  was  sure  to  go  right. 

This  news  drew  us  all  together,  and  it  was  not 
until  she  had  been  absent  some  time  that  it  was  dis- 
covered that  Aunt  Dorothy  had  left  us. 

Aunt  Gretel  was  the  first  to  perceive  her  depart- 
Tire,  and  to  suspect  its  cause.  At  once  she  repaired 
to  Lady  Lucy's  chamber,  whence,  in  a  minute  or 
two,  she  returned,  and  pressing  me  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  she  said,  in  a  solemn  whisper, — 

"  Olive,  it  must  be  stopped  ;  the  Lady  Lucy  is 
looking  like  a  ghost,  and  Mistress  Lettice  like  a 
damask  rose,  and  your  Aunt  Dorothy  is  talking 
Latin." 

This  was  Aunt  Gretel's  formula  for  controversial 
language.  She  said  English  was  composed  of  two 
elements ;  the  German  she  could  understand ;  we 
used  it,  she  said,  Avhen  we  were  speaking  of  things 
near  our  hearts,  of  matters  of  business,  or  of  affec- 
tion, or  of  religion,  in  a  peaceable  and  kindly  man- 
ner. But  the  Latin  was  beyond  her.  There  were 
long  words  in  ation^  utical,  or  arian,  which  always 
came  on  the  field  when  there  was  to  be  a  battle. 
And  then  she  always  withdrew.  In  this  martial  ar- 
ray Aunt  Dorothy's  thoughts  were  now  being  cloth- 
ed. And  Aunt  Gretel  thought  I  had  better  summon 
my  Father  to  interrupt  the  debate. 

I  went  at  once  and  indicated  to  him  the  danger. 
He  looked  half  angry  half  amused. 


452 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


"  Di*.  Antony,"  he  said,  "  your  medical  attend- 
ance is  required  up-stairs.  My  sister  has  recom- 
menced the  Civil  War," 

I  flew  U})  to  announce  the  coming  of  the  gentle- 
men. 

At  the  moment  when  I  entered  the  room  tho 
controversy  had  reached  a  climax.  Lady  Lucy 
was  sitting  very  pale  and  upright,  and  on  a  high- 
backed  chair  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  saying  in  a 
faint  voice, — 

"  Mistress  Dorothy,  I  am  not  a  Papist,  and  hope 
never  to  be." 

Lettice,  behind  the  chair,  with  her  arm  round  her 
mother,  and  her  hand  on  her  shoulder,  like  a  cham- 
pion, stood  with  quivering  lips  and  burning  cheeks, 
and  rejoined  that  "  there  were  worse  heretics  than 
the  Papists,  worse  tyrants  than  the  Inquisition." 
Whilst  Aunt  Dorothy,  as  pale  as  Lady  Lucy,  and 
with  lips  quivering  as  much  as  Lettice's,  faced  them 
both  with  the  consciousness  of  being  herself  a  wit- 
ness or  a  martyr  for  the  truth  struggling  within  her 
against  the  sense  that  she  was  regarded  by  others 
in  the  light  of  an  inquisitor  and  tormentor  of  mar- 
tyrs. 

"  An't  please  you,  Lady  Lucy,"  I  said,  "  my  Fa- 
ther thought  Dr.  Antony,  who  is  down-stairs,  might 
recommend  you  some  healing  draught.  He  has 
wonderful  recipes  for  coughs." 

And  before  a  reply  could  be  given,  my  Father 
and  Dr.  Antony  were  at  the  door,  and  Aunt  Doro- 
thy was  arrested  in  her  testimony  without  the  pos- 
Bibility  of  uttering  a  last  woi'd. 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  ^j  3 

Dr.  Antony  seemed  to  comprehend  the  position 
at  a  glance.  With  a  quiet  courtesy  which  introduc- 
ed him  at  once,  and  gave  him  the  command  of  the 
field,  he  went  uj)  to  Lady  Lucy,  and,  feeling  her 
})ulse,  observed  that  it  was  slightly  feverish  and  un- 
even, ordered  the  windows  to  be  open,  and  recom- 
mended that  as  much  air  as  possible  should  be  ob- 
tained, by  means  of  all  but  Mistress  Lettice  leaving 
the  room.  He  had  little  doubt  then  that  some  cool- 
ing medicines,  which  he  had  at  hand,  would  do  the 
rest.  As  I  was  going  Lettice  entreated  me  to  stay, 
which  I  was  ready  to  do. 

And  ere  long  we  were  all  three  quietly  gathered 
around  Lady  Lucy's  chair,  Lettice  on  a  cushion  at 
her  feet  (where  she  best  loved  to  be),  I  on  the  win- 
dow-seat near,  and  Dr.  Antony  leaning  on  the  back 
of  her  chair.  She  was  discoursing  to  him  in  French, 
which  she  spoke  with  a  marvellously  natural  accent, 
and  which  I  had  never  heard  him  speak  before.  I 
■know  not  why,  it  seemed  as  if  the  language  threw 
a  new  vivacity  and  fire  into  his  countenance,  and  I 
felt  very  ignorant,  and  humbled,  not  to  be  able  to 
join.  But  this  feeling  did  not  last  long,  Lady  Lucy 
had  a  way  of  divining  what  passed  in  the  mind,  and 
she  called  me  near,  and  made  me  sit  on  a  little 
chair  beside  her,  and  drew  my  hand  into  hers,  and 
encouraged  me  to  say  such  words  as  I  knew,  and 
praised  my  accent,  and  said  it  had  just  that  pretty 
English  lisp  in  it  tliat  some  of  the  countrymen  of 
poor  Queen  Henrietta  Maria  liad  thought  charming. 

She  made  Dr.  Antony  tell  us  moving  histories 
Btill  in  French  of  his  ancestors,  their  daring   deeds 


454  ^^^  ^^^  YTONS  AND 

and  hair-breadth  'scapes.  So  an  hour  passed,  and 
we  were  all  friends,  bound  together  by  the  easy 
charm  of  her  sweet  gracious  manner,  and  had  for- 
gotten the  storm  and  everything  else,  till  we  Avere 
summoned  to  supper. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  !  "  said  she,  giving  him  her  hand 
as  she  took  leave  of  him,  with  a  smile,  "  re-assure 
Mistress  Dorothy  as  to  my  orthodoxy,  and  make  her 
believe  my  sympathies  are  on  the  right  side  with 
the  sufferers  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Day.  And  Olive, 
little  champion,"  said  she,  drawing  my  forehead 
down  to  her  for  a  kiss,  and  stroking  my  cheek, 
"  never  think  it  necessary  again  to  interpose  in  a 
battle  between  your  aunt  and  your  Mother's  friend. 
I  honour  her  from  my  heart  for  her  fidelity  to  con- 
science. And  if  she  is  more  anxious  than  necessary 
about  my  faith — we  should  surely  bear  one  another 
no  grudge  for  that.  I  know  it  cost  her  more  than 
it  did  me  for  her  to  exhort  me  as  she  did.  And  I 
am  not  sure,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  if  after  all  she 
does  not  love  me  better  than  any  of  you." 

"  Mistress  Olive,"  said  Dr.  Antony,  as  we  sat  that 
evening  in  the  dusk,  by  the  window  of  my  Father's 
room,  while  he  wrote,  "  I  would  that  Christian 
women  understood  the  beautiful  work  they  might 
do  if  they  would  take  their  true  part  as  such." 

"  What  would  that  be  ?"  I  said,  thinking,  after 
the  experience  of  to-day,  it  might  probably  be  the 
part  of  the  Mute. 

"  To  see  that  Morals  and  Theology,  Charity  and 
Truth,  are  never  divorced,"  he  replied.  "  To  win 
us  back  to  the  Beatitudes  when  we  are  straying 


THE  DAVEN ANTS.  455 

into  the  curses.  To  lead  us  back  to  Persons  when 
we  are  groping  into  abstractions.  For  Books  full 
of  dogma,  Orthodox,  Arminian  supra-lapsarian,  or 
otherwise,  to  give  us  a  home,  a  living  world,  full 
of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Comforter,  of  angels 
and  brothers.  To  see  that  we  never  petrify  the 
thought  of  the  Living  God  into  a  metaphysical  for- 
mula, still  less  into  a  numerical  term.  Never  to  let 
us  forget  that  the  great  purpose  of  redemption  is  to 
bring  us  to  God ;  that  the  great  purpose  of  the  Church 
is  to  make  us  good.  When  we  have  clipped,  and 
stretched,  and  stiffened  the  living  Truth  into  the  nar- 
row immutability  of  our  theological  or  philosophical 
definitions,  to  breathe  it  back  again  into  the  unfathom- 
able simplicity  of  the  wisdom  that  brings  heavenly 
awe  over  the  faces  of  little  children,  and  heavenly 
peace  into  the  eyes  of  dying  men.  To  keep  the 
windows  open  through  our  definitions  into  God's 
Infinity.  To  translate  our  ingenious,  definite,  un- 
changeable scholastic  terms  into  the  simple,  infinite, 
ever-changing — because  ever-living — words  of  daily 
and  eternal  life ;  so  that  holiness  shall  never  come 
to  mean  a  stern  or  mystic  quality  quite  different 
from  goodness  ;  or  righteousness,  a  mere  legal  qual- 
ification quite  different  from  justice ;  or,  hitmility,  a 
supernatural  attainment  quite  different  from  being 
humble ;  or  charity,  something  very  far  from  simply 
being  gentle,  and  generous,  and  forbearing;  and 
brethren,  an  ecclesiastical  noun  of  multitude  totally 
unconnected  with  brother.  When  women  rise  to 
their  work  in  the  Church,  it  seems  to  me  the  Church 
will  soon  rise  to  her  true  work  in  the  world." 


4  5  6  THE  D  RA  TTONS  AND 

"You  speak  with  fervour,"  said  my  Father,  rising 
from  the  table,  and  smiling  as  he  laid  his  haad  on 
Dr.  Antony's  shoulder ;  "  the  womanhood  ycu  pic- 
ture is  something  loftier  than  that  of  Eve." 

"  Mary's  Ave  has  gone  far  to  transfigure  the  name 
of  Eve,"  he  replied.  " '  Ecce  concilia  Domini '  shall 
echo  deeper  and  further  and  be  remembered  longer 
than  'The  serpent  tempted  me  and  I  did  eat.' 
But,"  he  added,  "  we  have  a  better  type  than  Mary 
for  woman  as  well  as  man,  in  Him  who  came  not  to 
be  ministered  unto  but  to  minister.  I  was  chiefly 
thinking  of  the  gifts  most  common,  it  seems  *o  me, 
to  women,  and  least  to  controversialists,  I  mean,  im- 
agination and  common  sense.  Imagination  which 
penetrates,  from  signs  to  things  signified,  which 
pierces,  for  instance,  into  the  depth  and  meaning  of 
such  words  as  '  eternity '  and  '  accursed  ' — which 
also  penetrates  behind  the  adjective  '  Calvinistic  or 
Arminian,'  to  the  substantive  men  and  women 
whose  theology  they  define.  And  common  oense, 
which,  when  a  conclusion  contradicts  our  inborn 
conscience  of  right  and  wrong,  refuses  to  receive  it 
although  the  path  to  it  be  smoothed  and  Ledgsd  by 
logic  without  a  flaw. 

"  In  other  words,"  said  my  Father,  "  you  would 
say  that,  with  women  the  heart  corrects  the  errors 
of  the  head  oftener  than  we  sufier  it  to  do  so  with 
us.  We  must  remember,  however,  that  the  heart 
and  the  conscience  also  are  not  infallible,  and  that 
the  same  qualities  which  can  make  women  the  best 
saints  make  them  the  worst  controversialists.  The- 
ology and  morals  being  in  their  hearts  thus  closely 


THE  BAVEN ANTS.  ^57 

intertwined,  they  fight  against  a  mistate  as  if  it 
were  a  sin.  They  quicken  abstractions,  and  even 
rites  and  ceremonies,  into  personal  life,  and  are  apt 
to  defend  them  with  a  blind  and  passionate  vehe- 
mence as  they  would  the  character  of  a  husband  or 
a  son." 

"  Best  gifts  abused  must  ever  be  worst  curses," 
said  Dr.  Antony. 

And  I  ventured  to  say, — 

"  Is  it  not  just  the  lowliness  of  our  lot  that  makes 
it  high  ?  Can  we  help  our  voices  becoming  shrill, 
if  we  will  have  them  loud  ?" 

"  Tu  ae  thine  then,  sweetheart,  where  first  I  learnt 
how  sweet  it  was,"  said  my  Father,  stroking  my 
cheek,  "By  sick-beds,  or  by  children's  cradles,  or. 
in  the  house  of  mourning,  or  wherever  good  words 
are  needed  only  to  be  heard  by  the  one  to  whom 
they  are  spoken ;  there  women's  voices  are  attuned 
to  their  truest  tones." 

And  the  next  morning  I  had  that  walk  in  the  or- 
chard with  Dr.  Antony,  when  he  told  me  the  secret 
which  my  Father  would  persist  in  declaring  (most 
unwarrantably,  I  think)  lay  at  the  root  of  his  high 
expectations  as  to  the  future  work  and  destinies  of 
women. 

And  when,  a  i^yf  hours  afterwards,  after  I  had 
been  alone  a  while,  and  wc  had  knelt  together  and 
received  my  Father's  blessing,  and  I  began  to  un- 
derstand my  happiness  a  little,  and  went  and  said 
somethiifg  about  it  to  Lady  Lucy,  and  especially 
how  strange  it  was  that  Dr.  Antony  said  he  had 
89 


458  THE  DRAYTONS,  ETC. 

thought  of  it  so  long,  whilst  I  had  not  been  dream- 
ing of  it,  she  kissed  my  forehead,  and  said  with  a 
smile, — 

"  Very  strange,  my  unsuspecting  little  Puritan. 
For  it  crossed  my  thoughts  the  first  hour  I  saw  you 
together,  and  that  was  yesterday  evening.  Ah, 
Olive,"  she  added,  very  tenderly,  in  a  faltering 
voice,  "  I  had  fond  thoughts  once  that  it  might  have 
"been  otherwise.  If  my  Harry  had  lived,  and  this 
poor  distracted  realm  had  retui-ned  to  her  alle- 
giance, I  had  thought  perchance  some  day  to  have 
the  right  to  call  thee  by  the  tenderest  name.  But 
God  hath  not  willed  it  so.  And  I  try  hard  tliat  his 
will  may  be  mine.  He  hath  given  thee  the  great 
gift  of  a  good  man's  heart.  And  I  have  no  fear  but 
that  thou  wilt  keep  it." 


Chapter  XII. 


LETTICE  S   DIAET. 


ETHERBY,  May,  1647.— They  have  given 
us  the  best  upper  chambers  in  the  house, 
one  for  a  withdra  wing-chamber,  the  other 
for  my  Mother's  and  my  sleeping-cham- 
ber. This  last  has  a  broad  embayed  window  com- 
manding the  orchard,  at  the  bottom  of  which  is  the 
pond  where  the  water-lilies  grow  that  Roger  gath- 
ered for  me  on  that  night  when  Dr.  Taylor  and 
Mr.  Milton  discoursed  together  on  the  terrace,  in 
speech  like  rich  music,  about  liberty  of  thinking 
and  speaking. 

'•  England  has  been  echoing  another  kind  of  mu- 
sic all  these  years  since,  on  the  same  theme ;  but  it 
seems  as  if  we  had  drawn  but  little  nearer  a  conclu- 
sion, Tlie  Presbyterians  seem  as  convinced  of  the 
sin  of  allowing  any  one  else  to  think  or  speak  freely 
as  the  poor  martyred  Archbishop  was.  The  Pres- 
byterians, it  seems,  are  for  the  Covenant  (meaning 
Presbytery),  King,  and  Parliament ;  the  Covenant 
first     We   for   King  without  Covenant   and  with 

(459) 


460  THE  LRA  YTONS  AXD 

Bishops.  But  the  Presbyterians  are  against  con- 
venticles and  all  sectaries  (except  themselves). 
Herein,  so  far,  we  and  they  agree,  and  herein,  some 
think,  may  be  a  hope  for  tlie  good  cause.  If  we 
could  make  a  compromise,  order  might,  it  is  thought, 
be  speedily  restored.  This,  however,  seems  very 
hard.  They  would  have  to  sacrifice  the  Covenant, 
which  seems  nigh  as  dear  to  them  as  the  Bible. 
We,  the  Church  by  law  established ;  the  sacred 
links,  my  Mother  says,  which  bind  lis  to  the  Catho- 
lic Church  of  all  the  past,  which  the  king  will  die, 
she  thinks,  rather  than  do.  The  only  chance,  there- 
fore, of  agreement  seems  to  be,  if  the  Presbyterians 
ever  reach  the  point  of  hating  or  fearing  the  Inde- 
pendents more  than  they  love  the  Covenant.  Then, 
some  think  the  King  and  the  Presbyterians,  Scot- 
tish and  English,  might  unite  and  overpower  the 
Independents ;  and — what  then  ? 

*'I  cannot  at  all  imagine.  Because,  when  the 
common  enemy  is  gone,  Episcopacy  and  the  Cove- 
nant still  remain,  and  in  the  face  of  each  other.  Sir 
Launcelot  said  the  king  thinks  he  has  a  very  plain 
'  game'  to  play.  '  He  must  persuade  one  of  his  en- 
emies to  extirpate  the  other,  and  then  come  in  easily 
and  put  the  weakened  victor  under  his  feet.'  This 
he  has  in  letters  declared  to  be  his  intention.  I 
trust  the  royal  letters  have  been  misread.  For 
such  a  '  game'  seems  to  me  very  far  from  paternal 
or  kingly ;  and,  except  on  for  better  testimony,  I 
will  not  credit  it.  But  for  me  there  is  an  especial 
grief  in  all  these  matters.  Olive,  Avho  takes  her 
politics  mostly  from  Roger,  soeras  to  lean  to  the  In- 


THE  DAVJ^yAN'TS. 


461 


dependents,  who  constitute  the  strength  of  the  army, 
and  to  General  Cromwell,  who  is  their  idol;  so 
that  whatever  cause  triumphs,  nothing  is  likely  to 
bring  peace  between  the  Davenants  and  the  Dray- 
tons. 

"  At  present,  however,  our  peace  in  this  house  is 
much  increased.  My  Mother  and  Mistress  Dorothy 
have  concluded  a  treaty  on  the  ground  of  their  com- 
mon loyalty  to  His  Majesty,  and  their  common  ab- 
horrence of '  sectaries.' 

"  Moreover,  Mistress  Dorothy  is  marvellous  gen- 
tle and  kind  to  us.  Having  delivered  her  con- 
science, she  treats  my  Mother  with  a  tender  consid- 
eration and  deference  that  go  to  my  heait,  although 
sometimes  I  think  it  is  only  from  the  pity  a  benevo- 
lent jailer  would  feel  for  sentenced  criminals.  They 
have  been  condemned.  Justice  will  be  satisfied. 
And  meantime,  mercy  may  safely  satisfy  herself  by 
keeping  them  fed  and  warmed. 

"She  says  little;  but  she  watches  my  Mother's 
tastes,  and  supplies  her  with  unexpected  delicacies 
in  a  way  which  binds  my  whole  heart  to  her. 

"I  scarce  know  why;  but  I  always  liked  her. 
She  is  so  downright  and  true ;  manly,  as  a  man  may 
be  womanly.  She  is  most  like  Roger  in  some  ways 
of  any  of  them,  only  he,  being  really  a  man  and  a 
soldier,  is  gentler.  And  when  she  loves  you,  it 
seems  to  be  in  spite  of  herself,  which  makes  it  all 
the  sweeter.  For  she  does  love  me.  I  am  sure  of 
it,  by  the  way  she  watches  and  exhorts,  and  con- 
tradicts me.  Especially,  since  I  read  her  those  ser- 
mons that  afternoon  when  we  were  waiting.  I 
30* 


462  THE  DRA  YTONS  AKD 

asked  Olive,  and  she  told  me  Mistress  Dorothy  said, 
that  afternoon,  she  thought  I  had  gracious  disposi- 
tions. Tliat  meant,  I  opine,  that  she  liked  me.  She 
wanted  to  excuse  herself  for  liking  so  worldly  and 
Babylonish  a  young  damosel  as  she  believed  me 
to  be.  And,  therefore,  she  has  invested  me  with 
'  gracious  dispositions,'  and  believes  herself  commis- 
sioned to  bring  me  oitt  of  Babylon,  and  to  be  a 
*  means  of  grace'  to  me,  which,  I  am  sure,  I  am  will- 
ing she  should  be.  For  my  heart  is  too  light  and 
careless,  I  know  well.  Except  on  one  or  two  points. 
And,  meantime,  I  flatter  myself  I  may  be  an  '  ordi- 
nance and  means  of  grace'  in  some  little  measure  to 
her,  little  as  she  might  acknowledge  it.  It  does 
good  people  so  much  good  to  love  (really  love  I 
mean,  not  take  in  hand  merely  like  patients)  peoplo 
who  are  not  so  good  as  themselves.  It  sets  them 
planning,  praying  for  others,  and  takes  them  away 
from  looking  within  for  signs,  and  foz'ward  for  re- 
wards ;  by  filling  the  heart  with  love,  which  is  the 
most  gracious  sign,  and  the  most  glorious  reward 
in  itself. 

"Sweet  Mother,  mine!  we  all  have  been  great 
means  of  grace  to  her  in  that  way. 

"  Think  what  she  may,  she  would  not  have  been 
a  greater  saint  at  Little  Gidding,  although  she  had 
chanted  the  Psalter  through  three  hundred  and  six- 
ty-five times  in  the  year. 

"I  think  she  and  Mistress  Dorothy  help  each 
other.  They  make  me  think  of  the  two  groups  of 
graces  in  the  Bible.  St.  Paul's, — '  Love,  joy,  peace, 
long-sufiering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness, 


THE  DA  VENANTS 


463 


tempera  iice.'  I  picture  these  as  sweet  maidenly  or 
matronly  forms  white-robed,  radiant,  with  low- 
sweet  voices.  They  represent  my  Mother  and  the 
holy  people  of  Mr.  Herbert's  school.  Then  there 
are  St.  Peter's, — '  Faith,  virtue,  knowledge,  tempe- 
rance, patience,  godliness,  brotherly-kindness,  char- 
ity.' These  rise  before  me  like  a  company  of 
knights  in  armour,  valiant,  true,  and  pure.  In  the 
kind  of  plain,  manly  armour  of  the  Ironsides,  as 
Roger  looked  in  it  that  morning  at  Oxford,  when 
he  turned  back  and  waved  farewell  to  me  in  the 
court  of  the  College.  And  these  represent  Mistress 
Dorothy  and  the  nobler  Puritans.  They  are  the 
same,  no  doubt,  essentially ;  love  and  charity,  the 
mother  of  one  group,  the  king  and  crown  of  the 
other.  Yet  they  seem  to  represent  to  me  two  di- 
verse orders  of  piety,  the  manly  and  the  womanly. 
Together,  side  by  side,  in  mutual  aid  and  service, 
not  front  to  front  in  battle,  what  a  church  and  what 
a  world  they  might  make. 

"  But  the  great  event  in  the  house  now  is  tho 
bethrothal  of  Olive  and  Dr.  Antony,  which  took 
place  on  the  very  morning  after  Mistress  Dorothy's 
grand  Remonstrance. 

"  Dr.  Antony  left  a  day  or  two  afterwards.  And 
over  since  we  have  been  as  busy  as  possible  prepar- 
ing for  the  wedding,  Avhich  is  to  be  in  July.  Not  a 
long  betrothal-time.  But  they  needed  not  further 
time  to  try  each  other, 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  all  of  us  occupied  for 
her,  who  is  so  little  wont  to  Ijc  occupied  with  hei*- 
self.  She  seems  in  a  little  tumult  of  happiness,  as 
far  as  any  Puritan  soul  can  be  in  a  tumult. 


4.64  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

"  Many  of  these  Puritan  ways  seem  to  me  won- 
drous innocent  and  sweet. 

"  They  have  their  solemnities,  I  see,  and  their  rit- 
ual, and  ceremonial;  and  their  symbolism  and  sa- 
cred art,  moreover,  say  what  Mistress  Dorothy  may 
to  the  contrary. 

"  Tender  sacred  family  rites  and  solemnities. 
They  have,  indeed,  no  chapel  or  chaplain.  But  the 
family  seems  a  little  church ;  the  father  is  the  priest. 
Not  without  sacred  beauty  this  order,  nor  Avithout 
sanction  either  from  the  fathers  of  the  Church  (far 
thers  older  than  Archbishop  Laud's),  the  fathers 
Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob. 

"  For  instance,  when  Olive  and  Dr.  Antony  were 
betrothed,  Mr.  Drayton  led  them  into  his  room, 
and  laid  his  bauds  on  them,  and  blessed  them.  And 
that  was  the  seal  of  their  betrothal.  Every  Sunday 
morning,  Olive  tells  me,  when  she  and  Roger  were 
children,  after  family  prayers,  they  used  to  kneel 
thus  for  their  father's  blessing.  Sacred  touches, 
holy  as  coronation  sacring  oil,  I  think,  to  bear  about 
the  memory  of  through  life.  But  then  there  is  this 
to  be  remembered.  When  the  consecrating  touch 
is  from  hands  which  work  with  us  in  daily  life,  they 
need  to  be  very  pure.  No  pomp  of  place,  and  no 
mist  of  distance  glorifies  the  ministrant.  He  had 
need,  indeed,  to  be  all  glorious  within. 

"  Family  solemnities  must  be  very  true  to  be  at 
all  fair.  I  can  fancy  Puritan  hyj)Ocrisy,  or  a  mere 
formal  Puritanism,  the  driest  and  most  hideous 
thing  in  the  world. 

"  Then  as  to  symbols  and  sacred  art.     What  else 


THE  DAVENANTS 


465 


are  tliese  Scripture  texts,  carved  over  door-ways, 
graven  on  chimney-stones,  emblazoned  on  walls  ? 
*  They  are  not  graven  images,'  saith  Mistress  Doro- 
thy. But  what  are  words  but  images  within  the 
soul,  or  images,  rightly  used,  but  children's  words  ? 
Not  that  even  as  to  '  holy  pictures  '  and  '  images ' 
they  are  quite  destitute.  What  else  are  the  paint- 
ings from  Scripture  on  the  Dutch  tiles  in  Mr.  Dray- 
ton's room,  where  Olive  and  Roger  learned  from 
Mistress  Gretcl's  lips  their  earliest  Bible  lore  ?  It 
is  true,  they  are  chiefly  from  the  Old  Testament. 
But  Adam  and  Eve  delving,  the  serpent  darting  out 
.  his  forked  tongue  from  the  tree,  Noah  and  the  ani- 
mals walking  out  of  the  ark,  are  as  much  pictures 
as  St.  Peter  fishing,  or  the  blessed  Virgin  and  the 
Babe,  on  church  windows  ?  What  dificrcnce,  then, 
except  that  the  Puritan  pictures  are  on  tiles  at 
home  instead  of  on  glass  at  church  ?  '  They  are  for 
instruction,  and  not  for  idolatry,'  saith  Mistress 
Dorothy.  But  did  not  the  monks  in  old  times  paint 
their  pictures  also  for  instruction,  and  not  for  idol- 
atry ?  '  Centuries  of  abuse  make  the  most  innocent 
things  perilous,'  saith  Mistress  Dorothy.  '  When 
the  brazen  serpent  had  become  an  idol,  Jehosha- 
phat  called  it  a  piece  of  brass,  and  broke  it  in  pieces.' 
I  can  see  something  in  that.  The  sacrilege,  then,  is 
the  idolatry,  not  in  the  destruction  of  the  idol.  But 
alas,  if  we  set  ourselves  to  destroy  all  things  that 
have  been,  or  can  be  made  into  idols,  where  are  we 
to  stop  ?  Some  people  made  idols  of  the  very 
stones  of  their  houses,  without  any  scriptures  there- 
on, or  of  their  firesides,  without  the  sacred  pictures. 


466  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

There  are  two  things,  however,  which  fill  me  witli 
especial  reverence  in  these  Puntan  ways.  First,  this 
sweet  and  sacred  family  piety.  Second,  or  rather 
first,  for  it  is  at  the  root  of  all,  the  intense  conviction 
that  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  in  every  word 
and  work,  has  to  do  directly  with  God,  and  that  he, 
by  vii'tue  of  being  divine,  is  neax'er  us  than  all  the 
creatures;  that  to  Him  each  one  is  immediately 
responsible,  and  that,  therefore,  on  his  word  only 
can  it  be  safe  for  each  one  to  believe  or  do  any- 
thing. Such  conviction  gives  a  power  which  ceases 
to  be  wonderful  only  when  you  think  of  its  source. 
But  alas,  alas  !  what  if  this  Divine  word  be  misun- 
derstood. 

"  July. — Roger  Drayton  has  come,  on  a  few  days' 
leave,  to  be  present  at  his  sister's  wedding. 

"  He  hath  brought  the  strange  news  that  the 
king  is  in  the  keeping  of  the  army.  We  scarcely 
know  whether  to  mourn  or  rejoice.  It  came  about 
on  this  wise,  as  Roger  told  my  Mother  and  me : — 

"  It  was  reported  in  the  army  that  the  Presbyte- 
rian party  in  the  Parliament  designed  to  remove  the 
king  from  Ilolmby,  where  he  was,  to  Oatlands,  near 
London,  there  to  make  a  separate  treaty,  in  which 
the  soldiers  were  not  to  be  consulted  or  considered. 

"  On  the  fourth  of  June,  therefore.  Cornet  Joyce, 
without  commission,  it  seems,  from  any  one,  but 
simply  as  knowing  that  it  would  be  agreeable  to 
the  army ;  and  to  prevent  this  design  of  a  separate 
Presbyterian  treaty,  went,  with  some  seven  or  eight 
hundred  men,  to  Holmby  House,  where  His  Majesty 
had  remained  since  we  saw  him  in  ApiiL 


THE  DA  TENANTS.  4C7 

"The  Commissioners  of  the  Parliament,  who 
"were  His  Majesty's  jailers,  were  very  indignant  at 
this  interference  of  Cornet  Joyce,  and  commanded 
the  gates  to  be  closed,  and  preparations  to  he  made 
to  resist  an  assault.  Their  own  soldiers,  on  the 
contrary,  were  of  the  same  mind  with  the  army  and 
the  Coi-net,  and  threw  open  the  gates  at  once  to 
their  comrades.  Nor  was  the  king  himself,  it  seems, 
unwilling.  When  Cornet  Joyce  made  his  way  to 
the  royal  presence,  the  king  spoke  to  him  with 
much  graciousness.  He  asked  the  Cornet  if  he 
would  promise  to  do  him  no  hurt,  and  to  force  him 
to  nothing  against  his  conscience.  Cornet  Joyce 
declared  he  had  no  ill  intention  in  any  way ;  the 
soldiers  only  wanted  to  prevent  His  Majesty  being 
placed  at  the  head  of  another  army,  and  that  he 
would  be  most  unfailing  to  force  any  man  against 
his  conscience,  much  less  His  Majesty.  The  king, 
therefore,  agreed  to  accompany  him  the  next  day, 
this  happening  at  night. 

"  The  next  mornuig,  at  six  o'clock.  His  Majesty 
condescended  to  meet  the  soldiers. 

"  He  again  demanded  to  know  the  Cornet's  au- 
thority, and  if  he  had  no  writing  from  the  general, 
Sii-  Thomas  Fairfax. 

" '  I  pray  you,  Mr.  Joyce,'  he  said,  '  deal  ingenu- 
ously with  me,  and  tell  me  what  commission  you 
have.' 

Said  Joyce, — 

" '  Here  is  my  commission.' 

"  '  "Where  ?  '  asked  the  king. 

" '  Behind  me,'  said  the  Cornet,  pointihg  to  his 


^68  THE  DBA  YTONS  AND 

troopers ;  *  and  I  hopf;  that  will  satisfy  your  Mar 
jesty. 

The  King  smiled. 

"  '  It  is  as  fair  a  commission,'  he  said,  '  and  as  well 
written  as  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life  ;  a  company 
of  as  handsome  and  proper  gentlemen  as  I  have  seen 
a  great  while.  But  what  if  I  should  yet  refuse  to  go 
with  you  ?  I  hope  you  would  not  force  me  !  I  am 
your  king.  You  ought  not  to  lay  violent  hands  on 
your  king.  I  acknowledge  none  to  be  above  me  but 
God.' 

"  Cornet  Joyce  assured  His  Majesty  he  meant  him 
no  harm;  and  at  length  the  king  went  with  the 
soldiers  as  they  desired,  they  suffering  him  to 
choose  between  two  or  three  places  the  one  he  liked 
best. 

"  So,  by  easy  stages,  they  conducted  him  to 
Childerley,  near  Newmarket.  And  it  is  said  the 
king  was  the  merriest  of  the  company.  Heaven 
send  it  to  be  a  good  augury. 

"  Roger  said,  moreover,  that  His  Majesty  con- 
tinues to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  the  army  to  be 
friendly  disposed  towards  him.  They  have  hope  yet 
that  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  General  Cromwell,  and 
Ii-eton  may  make  some  arrangement  to  which  His 
Majesty  may  honourably  accede. 

"  And,  meantime,  they  allow  him  not  only  the  at- 
tendance of  his  faithful  servants,  but  his  own  chap- 
lains to  perform  the  services  of  the  Church,  which 
the  Presbyterians  refused  him  at  Holmby.  Eng 
lishmen,  especially  the  common  people,  and  most  of 
all,  I  thiiJk,  English  soldiers,  have  honest  hearts 


THE  DA  VEsYANTS.  469 

after  all ;  safer  to  trust  to  than  those  of  men  armed 
cap-a-pie  in  covenants,  and  catechisms,  and  confes- 
sions. Surely  the  king  will  yet  win  the  hearts  of 
the  army,  and  all  will  yet  go  right.  Roger,  mean- 
while, is  as  stately  in  his  courtesy  to  me  as  a  Span- 
ish hidalgo,  listening  and  assenting  to  all  I  say  in  a 
way  I  detest.  For  it  means  that  he  feels  our  dif- 
ferences too  deep  to  venture  on." 

"  July  2nd. — Roger  has  begun  to  contradict  and 
controvert  me  again  delightfully.  This  morning  we 
had  our  first  serious  battle. 

"  Tester  eve  I  said  something  about  abhoring  all 
middle  states  of  things.  It  was  in  refei'ence  to  the 
poor  peasants  flocking  around  the  king.  I  said 
there  was  no  poetry  in  mid-way  things,  or  times,  or 
states,  in  mid-day,  mid-summer,  middle-life,  or  the 
middle-station  in  the  state. 

"  He  took  this  up  earnestly  after  his  manner,  and 
went  into  a  serious  argument  to  prove  me  wrong.  It 
was  but  a  weakling  and  half-fledged  poesy,  quoth  he, 
which  must  needs  go  to  dew-drops,  and  rosy  clouds, 
and  primroses,  and  violets,  for  its  smiles  and  decor- 
ations, and  could  see  no  glory  and  beauty  in  sum- 
mer or  in  noon.  Summer  with  its  golden  ripening 
harvests,  and  all  its  depths  of  bountiful  life  in  woods 
and  fields ;  noon-tide  with  its  patient  toil  or  its  rap- 
turous hush  of  rest ;  manhood  and  womanhood  with 
their  dower  of  noble  work  and  strength  to  do  it. 
He  could  not  abide  (he  said),  to  hear  the  spring-tide 
spoken  pulingly  of  as  if  it  faded  instead  of  ripened 
into  summer,  or  youth  as  if  it  set  instead  of  dawned 
into  manhood.  And  as  to  the  middle  station  in  a 
40 


+7° 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


nation,  its  yeomanry  and  traders,  nations  must  have 
their  heads  to  think  and  their  hands  to  work ;  but 
the  middle  order  was  the  nation's  heart.  If  that 
was  sound,  the  nation  was  sound,  if  that  was  cor- 
rupt and  base,  the  nation's  heart  was  rotten  at 
the  core.  Wliich  (ended  he)  he  thought  these  last 
years,  with  all  their  miseries,  had  proved  the  heart 
of  England  was  not. 

"  Roger  Drayton  has  a  strange  way  of  his  own  in 
discourse,  of  putting  aside  all  your  light  skirmish- 
ing forces,  and  closing  with  the  very  kernel  and 
core  of  the  people  he  has  to  do  with.  The  way  of 
the  Ironsides,  I  suppose.  I  have  been  used  to  little 
but  skirmishing  in  discourse  among  the  younger 
Cavaliers ;  light  jesting  talk  whether  the  heart  or 
the  subject  be  grave  or  gay.  Even  serious  feelings 
being  hidden  for  the  most  part  under  a  mask  of  lev- 
ity. But  Roger  seldom,  perhaps  never,  exactly 
jests.  His  mirth,  like  a  child's  laughter,  is  from 
the  heart,  as  much  as  his  gravity.  He  will  know 
and  have  you  know  what  you  really  honour,  or  love, 
or  want,  or  dread. 

"  So  it  happened  that  to-day  on  the  terrace  we 
came  on  the  very  subject  I  had  intended  always  to 
avoid;  General  Cromwell. 

"  I  chanced  to  allude  in  passing  to  some  of  the  re- 
ports I  had  heard  against  the  General,  some  care- 
less words  about  bis  praying  and  preaching  with 
his  men. 

"  I  had  no  notion  until  then  how  Roger  reveres 
this  man,  like  a  son  his  father,  or  a  loyal  subject  his 
Bovereign. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


47 » 


"  He  said,  quietly,  but  with  that  repressed  pas- 
sion which  often  makes  his  words  so  strong,  that  no 
man  who  had  ever  knelt  at  General  Cromwell's 
prayers  would  jest  at  his  praying,  any  more  than 
any  man  who  had  ever  encountered  him  in  battle 
would  jest  at  his  fighting.  That  his  word  could  in- 
spire his  men  to  charge  like  a  word  from  heaven, 
and  could  rally  them  like  a  re-inforcement.  That 
after  the  battle  his  strong  utterance  of  Christian 
hope  and  faith  could  hearten  men  to  die,  as  it  had 
heartened  them  to  fiight ;  that  after  such  a  battle 
as  Marston  Moor,  while  directing  the  siege-works 
outside  York,  he  could  find  time  to  go  down  into 
the  depths  of  his  own  past  sorrows  to  draw  thence 
living  waters  of  comfort  for  a  friend  (Mr.  Walton) 
whose  son  had  been  slain,  writing  him  a  letter  of 
consolation  (which  Roger  had  seen)  containing 
words  deep  enough  '  to  drink  up  the  father's  sor- 
row.' 

"laen  Roger  spoke  of  the  unflinching  justice, 
which  was  only  the  other  side  of  this  same  sym- 
pathy and  care ;  how  General  Cromwell  had  two 
of  his  men  hanged  for  plundering  prisoners  at  Win- 
chester, and  sent  others  accused  of  the  same  ofience 
to  be  judged  by  the  royal  garrison  at  Oxford, 
whence  the  governor  sent  them  back  with  a  gener- 
ous acknowledgment. 

"  '  It  is  loyalty  you  feel  toAvards  General  Crom- 
well,' I  said,  '  such  a  disinterested,  ennobling,  self- 
gacrificiug  passion  as  our  Harry  felt  for  the  king.' 

"  He  paused  a  moment, — 

" '  If  God  sends  us  a  judge  and  a  deliverer  what 


472  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

else  can  we  feel  for  hira  ?"  lie  said,  at  length  ;  '  I  be- 
lieve General  Cromwell  is  the  defender  of  the  law, 
and  will  be  the  deliverer  of  the  nation,  and  if  he 
will  suffer  it,'  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice,  '  of  the 
king.' 

"  '  Is  it  true,'  I  asked,  '  that,  as  you  once  told  us, 
General  Cromwell  and  the  army  ai-e  courteous  to  His 
Majesty,  and  anxious  to  make  good  tenns  with  him  ? 
Can  it  be  possible  that  there  may  yet  be  an  honour- 
able peace  ? '  '  I  believe,'  he  replied,  '  that  all  things 
else  are  possible,  if  only  it  is  possible  for  the  king 
to  be  true.  But  if  a  word,  king's  or  peasant's,  is 
worth  nothing,  what  other  bond  remains  between 
man  and  man  ?  Forgive  my  rough  speech.  I  know 
your  loyalty  is  a  sacred  thing  to  you.  If  the  king 
will  deal  truly,  I  believe  General  Cromwell  will 
make  him  such  a  king  as  he  never  was  before.  But 
who  can  twist  ropes  of  sand  ?  For  one  who  is  un- 
true seems  to  me  not  to  be  a  real  substance  at  all, 
not  even  a  shadow  of  a  substance,  but  simply  a 
dream  or  phantasm,  simply  nothing.^ 

"  I  felt  myself  flush.  V/e  have  sacrificed  too 
much  for  His  Majesty,  not  to  believe  in  him.  Yet 
I  fear  he  has  other  thoughts  as  to  the  double-dealing 
to  be  permitted  in  diplomacy  than  Harry  had,  or 
many  gentlemen  who  serve  him. 

"  I  could  only  answer  Roger  by  saying, — 

"  Adversity  makes  a  king  sacred  if  nothing  else 
ean.  If  the  king's  cause  were  once  more  to  prosper, 
we  might  debate  such  things  as  these.  But  not 
now,  Roger.     I  dare  not  now.' 

"  He  looked  as  if  words  were  on  his  lips,  he  could 


THE  DA  VENANTS: 


473 


scarcely,  with  all  his  reserve  and  courtesy,  hold 
back.  But  he  turned  away,  and  calling  Lion  from 
the  pond  where  he  was  chasing  some  wild-fowl,  we 
went  into  the  house. 

"  July  Ath. — Dr.  Antony  has  come  for  the  wed- 
ding. He  brought  us  a  moving  account  of  the  two 
days  spent  by  the  Royal  children.  James  the  Duke 
of  York,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  and  the  Princess 
Elizabeth,  with  His  Majesty,  at  Caversham,  near 
Reading.  The  Independent  officers  of  the  anny 
permitted  it.  And  they  say  General  Cromwell  him- 
self, having  sons  and  daughters  of  his  own,  shed 
tears  to  see  the  affection  of  the  king  and  the  inno- 
cent playfulness  of  the  children,  knowing  so  little 
of  the  dangers  around  them. 

"  July  Tfth. — Olive  looked  wondrous  fair  as  a  bride, 
in  her  plain  spotless  dress,  without  an  ornament, 
partly  from  Puritanical  plainness,  and  partly  be- 
cause the  family  jewels  went  long  since  with  the 
tliimbles  and  bodkins  of  the  London  dames  iato  the 
treasury  at  the  Guildhall.  So  grave  and  serene, 
pure  and  young,  with  her  fair  pale  face,  and  her 
smooth  white  brow  and  soft  true  eyes. 

"  She  was  married  in  the  church,  with  some  frag- 
ments of  the  marriage-service,  the  whole  being  for- 
bidden. 

"It  was  sweet  afterwards  to  see  her  kneel 
while  my  Mother  kissed  her  forehead,  and  placed 
a  string  of  large  pearls  round  her  neck,  with  a 
jewel. 

"They  had  always  a  singular  love  for  each  other, 
Olive  and  my  Mother.  The  bride  and  bridegroom 
40* 


474  THE  DRA  YT0N8  AND 

rode  away  together  after  noon-tide  towards  theif 
London  home. 

^^Juhj  Qlh. — This  morning  I  rose  early  and  went 
down  to  the  pond  in  the  orchard,  and  being  led 
back  by  the  sight  of  it  to  the  thought  of  Olive  and 
old  times,  strayed  on  towards  the  Lady  Well  where 
first  we  met. 

"  By  the  way  I  j^assed  old  Gammer  Grindle's  cot« 
tage,  and  finding  the  door  open,  early  as  it  was, 
went  in  to  tell  her  about  the  bride. 

"  And  there  I  saw  Cicely  and  the  child  again ; 
and  heard  her  terrible  story  of  wrong  and  sorrow. 

"It  made  me  very  sad,  and  as  I  went  on  to- 
wards the  Well,  it  set  me  thinking  of  many 
things. 

"  Why  did  Olive  never  tell  me  ?  But  then  I 
thought  how  I  had  more  than  once  wilfully  refused 
to  believe  evil  of  Sir  Launcelot,  choosing  to  believe 
what  I  liked.  And  a  cold  shudder  came  over  me 
as  I  sat  by  the  Lady  Well,  to  think  how  near  dan- 
ger I  had  been,  and  how  terrible  it  would  have  been 
if  I  had  cared  for  him  (not  indeed  that  I  ever  could). 
I  meditated  also  whether  it  was  not  yet  possible  to 
get  right  done  to  Cicely.  And  I  resolved  as  far  as 
I  could  for  the  future  never  to  believe  anything  be- 
cause I  wished,  but  because  it  Avas  true;  that  is, 
to  try  not  to  wish  about  things  being  true,  but 
to  search  out  honestly  if  th«y  are.  And  I  was 
standing  looking  into  the  Well,  sunk  deep  in  these 
thoughts,  wondering  if  any  one  ever  really  did  quite 
do  this,  when  I  heard  a  footstep  and  glancing  up* 
waids,  I  met  Roger  Drayton's  eyes. 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


475 


"And  then  he  told  me  of  his  love.  I  cannot  say 
1  had  never  thought  of  it  before.  1 1  ad  sometimes 
even  thought  it  might  one  day  come  to  something 
like  this,  and  had  even  imagined  a  little,  what  I 
should  say,  or  perhaps,  not  so  much  what,  as  how  I 
would  say  many  wise  things  to  him  and  manage  it 
so  ingeniously  that  in  some  marvellous  way  all  the 
difficulties  about  the  Civil  wars  would  vanish,  he 
would  see  he  had  made  some  mistakes,  and  I  would 
acknowledge  candidly  that  our  side  had  not  been 
blameless,  and  then  I  might  admit,  that,  perhaps, 
one  day  he  might  speak  to  me  again  on  the  other 
subject.  At  least  I  know  these  dreams  of  mine  al- 
ways ended  in  my  being  left  in  perfect  certainty 
that  Roger  would  one  day  join  in  the  good  cause, 
and  Roger  perhaps  in  a  very  little  uncertainty  as  to 
the  rest. 

"  But  everything  went  quite  the  other  Avay. 
Roger  was  so  much  in  caraest  about  what  he  had 
to  say,  that  what  I  had  to  say  about  politics  unfor- 
tunately went  entirely  out  of  my  head.  Roger  has 
left  me  with  anything  but  a  certainty  or  probability 
of  his  ever  being  a  Cavalier,  as  things  are  at  pres- 
ent. And  I  have  left  him  in  no  uncertainty  at  all 
about  the  rest. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  golden  opportunity  lost. 
But  how  could  I  help  it  ?  When  he  showed  all 
his  heai't  to  me,  how  could  I  help  his  seeing  mine  ? 
And  since  I  am  sure  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  to 
be  compared  with  Roger,  how  could  I  help  his  see- 
ing that  I  feel  and  thhik  so  ?  Besides,  after  all, 
there   is   somethino;   base  in  such   conditions.      It 


176  THE  DRA  TTONS  AND 

might  have  been  trifling  with  his  conscience.  And 
that  would  have  been  almost  a  crime. 

"  Wherefore,  I  am  sure  I  could  not  have  done 
otherwise,  and  I  think  I  have  done  right. 

"  Yet  we  made  no  promises.  "We  know  we  love 
each  other.  That  is  all.  And  I  know  he  has  loved 
rae  ever  since  he  can  remember.  And  I  know,  with 
such  a  heart  as  his,  once  is  for  ever  ? 

"  And  I  know  that  now,  if  it  were  possible,  that 
the  whole  work!  could  come  between  us  ;  a  world 
of  oceans  and  continents,  a  world  of  war  and  pol- 
itics and  calumnies,  it  would  always  be  outside, 
it  would  never  come  between  our  hearts. 

"  My  Mother  thinks  so  too.  I  feel  now,  for 
the  first  time,  in  some  ways  what  it  is  to  have  a 
Mother's  heart  to  rest  on.  Although  through  all 
her  tender  silence,  I  feel  she  sees  more  difficulties 
in  the  way  than  I  do. 

"  July  10(h. — A  world  of  oceans  and  continents 
no  separation  !  How  boldly  I  wrote !  Roger  is 
gone  back  to  the  army ;  gone  not  half  an  hour, 
barely  a  mile  away,  scarcely  out  of  sight.  If  I 
listen  I  fancy  I  can  almost  hear  his  hoi'se  hoofs  in 
the  distance.  And  it  seems  as  if  that  mile  were  a 
world  of  oceans  and  continents,  as  if  these  moments 
since  he  left  were  the  beginning  of  an  eternity, 
altogether  beyond  the  poor  counted  minutes  and 
hours  and  days  of  time.  But  a  minute  since,  his 
hand  in  mine,  and  what  may  happen  before  I  see 
him  again  ?  How  do  I  know  if  I  shall  ever  see  him 
again  ?  In  love  such  as  ours,  ever  and  never  bo 
tei'ribly  intertwine  I 


THE  DA  VJSiVANTS. 


477 


"Unbelieving  that  I  am.  Now  I  shall  have  to 
learn  if  I  understand  really  anything  of  what  it  is 
to  trust  God  and  to  pray. 

"  Praytjr  and  trust  must  be  as  deep  as  this  love^ 
or  they  are  nothing. 

"  They  must  be  deeper,  or  they  are  no  support." 

olive's  kecollections. 

We  began  our  home  in  London  in  troublous 
times. 

As  we  came  near  our  house  which  was  not  far 
from  the  river  and  from  Whitehall,  we  saw  some- 
thing which  moved  me  not  a  little,  a  coach  being 
drawn  to  St.  James's  Palace,  guarded  by  Parlia- 
ment soldiers.  A  few  people  turned  and  gazed  as 
it  passed ;  and  two  children  were  looking  out  of  the 
window.  These  were  the  Royal  children  being 
taken  back  to  St.  James's  Palace  after  their  two 
days  with  the  king  at  Caversham.  There  was 
something  A^ery  mournful  in  beholding  these  young 
creatures,  born  to  be  children  of  the  nation  as  well 
as  of  the  king,  taken  to  their  royal  home  as  to  a 
prison,  dwelling  in  their  own  land  as  exiles,  their 
Mother  a  fugitive  in  France,  their  Father  a  captive 
among  his  own  people. 

There  is  a  terrible  strength  in  the  pathetic  majes- 
ty Avhich  enshrines  a  fallen  king ;  a  well-nigh  irre- 
sistible power  in  the  crown  which  has  become  a 
crown  of  thorns.  A  captive  monarch  is  a  more 
perilous  foe  than  a  victorious  army  to  the  subjects 
who  hold  him  ca4)tive.  How  often  during  those  sad 
years,  1647  and  1648, 1  had  to  go  over  all  the  causes 


478  THE  LRA  YTONS  AND 

of  the  civil  war  again  and  again ;  Eliot  slowly  mur- 
dered in  his  unlawful  and  unwholesome  prison ;  the 
silenced  Parliaments ;  the  tortured  Puritans ;  the 
imprisoned  patriots.  How  often  I  had  to  recall  all 
its  course — Prince  Rupert's  plundering  ;  the  king's 
repeated  duplicity,  slowly  wearing  out  the  nation's 
lingering  trust  in  him,  and  baffling  all  attempts  at 
negotiation.  I  had  to  repeat  these  things  to  vaj- 
self,  by  an  effort  of  will  again  and  again,  in  order 
to  keep  true  to  our  principles  at  all. 

And  the  conflict  with  this  rebound  of  instinctive 
loyalty,  which  went  on  in  my  heart  secretly,  was 
going  on  in  the  city  openly  at  the  time  when  we 
took  up  our  abode  there. 

So  strong  and  general,  indeed,  was  this  rebound 
of  loyalty,  that  in  that  August,  1647,  which  was  our 
honeymoon,  it  seemed  that  the  whole  city  of  Lon- 
don— at  the  beginning  of  the  war  the  Parliament's 
very  strength  and  stay — was  panting  to  return  to 
its  allegiance,  led  by  the  Presbyterian  majority  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  The  conflict  seemed  alto- 
gether to  have  shifted  its  gi'ound.  The  enemy  now 
dreaded  by  the  city  was  not  the  king,  but  the  army 
which  its  own  liberal  contributions  and  persevering 
courage  had  done  so  much  to  create.  Like  the  Ger- 
man magician.  Dr.  Faustus,  of  whom  Aunt  Gretcl 
used  to  tell  us,  the  city  crouched  treniblhig  before 
the  untameable  spirit  it  had.  evoked,  as  from  mo- 
ment to  moment  it  grew  into  more  terrible  stature 
and  strength. 

Sunday  the  1st  August,  1647,  my  first  Sunday  in 
London,  was  a  memorable  day  to  me. 


THE  DA  VEyANTS. 


479 


Tlirouj^h  all  the  hush  of  the  Puritan  Sabbath 
there  was  a  deep  hum  of  unrest  throughout  the  city, 
a  ceaseless  stir  of  men  walking  in  silent  haste  hither 
and  thither,  or  gathering  for  eager  debate  at  the  cor- 
ners of  streets,  in  the  squares,  or  in  any  public  place. 
It  was  a  notable  contrast  to  the  cheerful  stii^  of  an- 
imal life  and  the  deep  under-stillness  at  Netherby. 

On  the  Friday  before,  the  House  of  Commons  had 
been  invaded,  not  as  once  in  the  beginning  of  the 
strife  by  the  king  trampling  on  "Privilege  "  in  quest 
of  five  "traitors,"  but  by  a  crowd  of 'prentices  with 
hats  on,  clamouring  for  the  king  against  the  anny. 

Then  the  two  Speakers  of  the  Lords  and  Com- 
mons had  fled  to  the  anny,  with  the  mace,  and  all 
the  Independent  members. 

The  eleven  banished  Presbyterian  members  had 
returned;  among  them  Denzil  Hollis  (one  of  the 
king's  fated  "  five  traitors  "  who  had  afterwards 
withstood  the  royal  forces  so  gallantly  at  Brent- 
ford) and  Sir  John  Clotworthy,  whose  zeal  had  pur- 
sued Archbishop  Laud  with  theological  questions 
even  on  the  scafl:bld. 

Recruitings,  gatherings  of  men  and  arms,  and 
drillings  and  gun-practice  had  been  going  on  in  all 
quarters  of  the  city  on  the  Saturday. 

On  Monday  these  were  renewed  Avith  the  earliest 
light  of  the  summer  morning.  Drums  beatino- 
trumpets  calling,  'prentices  hurrahing  on  all  sides,  • 
"No  peace  with  Sectaries."  The  London  militia, 
"  one  and  all,"  against  the  factious  army,  then  be- 
lieved  to  be  couching  tranquilly  near  Bedford, 

But  on  Tuesday  the  army  rose  from  its  lair,  and 


480  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

advanced  to  Hounslow.  Then  all  Southwark  came 
pouring  in  terrified  throngs  across  London  Bridge, 
demanding  peace  with  the  army,  and  declaring  they 
would  not  fight.  The  Presbyterian  General  Poyntz 
was  indignant,  and  there  was  tumult  and  bloodshed 
in  the  streets. 

Closer  and  closer  that  defied  but  dreaded  monster 
of  an  army  came,  every  step  forward  and  every  halt 
watched  with  fluctuations  of  hope  and  fear  in  the 
city.  The  army,  meanwhile,  strong  in  the  presence 
of  the  king,  the  speakers,  the  mace,  and  Oliver  Crom- 
well, looked  on  itself  as  not  only  representing  hut  be- 
ing all  the  three  powers  of  the  state  combined,  inspir- 
ed by  an  invisible  power  stronger  than  all  states ;  and 
80  it  advanced  majestically  free  from  hurry  or  dis- 
order. Not  a  provision-cart  or  pack-horse  was 
stopped  on  its  way  into  the  city.  And  on  Friday^ 
August  the  9th,  the  army  appeared  in  the  city, 
marching  three  deep  through  Hyde  Park  with 
boughs  of  laurel  in  their  hats,  through  Westmins- 
ter, along  the  Strand,  through  the  City,  to  the  Tow- 
er. In  a  day  or  two  they  were  quietly  established 
in  the  villages  around,  the  headquarters  being  at 
Putney.  The  king  was  lodged  the  while  at  Hamp- 
ton Court. 

Not  an  act  of  vengeance  nor  of  disorder,  as  far  as 
I  know,  disgraced  their  triumph.  Not  that  this  was 
any  matter  of  wonder  to  us.  Our  wonder  was  that 
sober  and  godly  citizens  should  wonder  at  the  so- 
berness and  godliness  of  the  army,  every  regiment 
of  which  was  a  worshipping  congregation,  and  tho 
Boul  of  it  Oliver  Cromwell. 


THE  DA  VEA'-A  l^TS.  48 1 

Job  Forster  was  sorely  vexed  at  the  evil  reports 
spread  concerning  the  soldiere.  We  saw  him  often 
during  that  autumn. 

"  Have  they  forgotten,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have 
won  Marston  Moor  and  Naseby  for  them  ?  that  we 
have  been  marching  through  the  land  all  these 
years,  and  not  left  a  godly  homestead  nor  a  family 
the  worse  for  us  throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  country  ?  A  man  might  think  it  was  we  who 
sacked  Leicester  and  plundered  and  burnt  villages 
and  farms  far  and  wide.  They  should  have  heard 
the  prayers  our  poor  men  poured  forth  by  the  camp- 
fires  on  the  battle-fields  Avhere  we  shed  our  blood 
for  them.  Such  prayers  as  might  well-nigh  lift  the 
roofs  from  their  great  vaults  of  churches,  and  belike 
the  great  stone  also  from  their  hearts.  Men  creep- 
ing easily  among  streets,  praying  safely  as  long  as 
they  like  behind  walls,  and  sleeping  every  night  on 
feather-beds,  might  be  the  better  for  a  good  stretch 
now  and  then  in  one  of  our  Cromwell's  marches, 
and  a  hard  bed  on  the  moors,  and  a  good  look 
right  up  into  the  sky,  beyond  the  roofs,  and  the 
clouds,  and  the  stars,  and  the  Covenants  and  Con- 
fessions." 

Roger  also  chafed  much  at  the  citizens,  but  most 
of  all  at  their  misunderstanding  of  General  Crom- 
well. All  that  autumn,  said  Roger,  the  General, 
with  Ireton,  Vane,  and  Harry  Marten,  and  other 
faithful  men,  were  labouring  liard  to  establish 
peace  on  a  lasting  foundation,  as  the  proposals  of 
the  army  proved.  They  would  have  provided  that 
His  Majesty's  person,  the  queen,  and  the  royal  issue 
41 


482  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

should  be  restored  to  honour  and  all  personal  rights ; 
that  the  royal  authority  over  the  militia  should  be 
subject  to  the  advice  of  Parliament  for  ten  years ; 
that  all  civil  penalties  for  ecclesiastical  offences  (for 
instance,  whether  for  using  or  disusing  the  Common 
Prayer),  should  be  removed  ;  that  some  old  decayed 
boroughs  should  be  disfranchised,  and  the  represen- 
tation be  made  more  equal ;  that  parliaments  should 
last  two  years,  not  to  be  dissolved  except  by  their 
own  consent,  unless  they  had-  sat  one  hundred  and 
twenty  days  ;  that  grand  jurymen  should  be  chosen 
in  some  impartial  way,  and  not  at  the  discretion  of 
the  sheriff.  But  no  man  would  have  it  so.  The 
Levellers  in  the  army  clamoured  for  justice  on  the 
"  Chief  Delinquent,"  and  declared  that  General 
Cromwell  had  betrayed  them  to  the  king.  There 
was  a  mutiny  which  Cromwell  hiipself  barely  suc- 
ceeded in  quelling.  The  Presbyterians  would  not 
give  up  the  right  to  enforce  the  Covenant.  The 
king  carried  on  negotiations  at  the  same  time  with 
General  Cromwell,  Avith  the  Presbyterians,  and  with 
the  Irish  Papists  ;  intending,  as  was  showed,  alas  I 
too  surely,  from  intercepted  letters,  to  be  true  to 
none,  except,  perchance,  the  last. 

On  November  the  1 2th,  early  in  the  morning,  the 
news  flashed  through  the  city,  cried  from  street  to 
street,  that  the  king  bad  fled  from  Hampton  Court ; 
and  Roger,  who  was  with  us,  that  moi'ning,  said, — 

"  Once  more  General  Cromwell  would  have  saved 
the  king  and  the  country.  But  the  king  will  not  be 
saved.     Now  he  must  turn  wholly  to  the  country." 

"  But  what,"  replied  my  husband,  "  if  the  country 
also  refuses  to  be  saved  by  General  Cromwell  ?  " 


THE  LA  VENANTS. 


4S3 


"  Then  for  a  New  England  across  the  seas,"  said 
Roger.     "  But  we  are  not  come  to  that  yet." 

For  even  after  the  king's  flight  Roger  clung  to 
the  hope  of  reconciliation,  his  h»pes  nourished  by 
secret  fountains  flowing  from  the  vej-y  icebergs  ot 
his  fears.     For  with  the  bond  which  bound  People 
and  King,  might  be  snapped  for  him  the  bond,  not 
indeed  of  love,  but  of  hope  between  him  and  Lettice. 
Still  throughout  that  dreary  winter  negotiations 
went  on  between  the  Parliament  and  His  Majesty 
at  the  Castle  of  Carisbrook.     IVIore  and  more  hope- 
less as  more  and  more  men  became  mournfully  con- 
vinced of  the  kings  untruth.     Until,  in  April,  1648, 
when,  from  the  upper  windows  of  our  house,  I  could 
Bee  on  one  side  the  trees  bursting  into  leaf  in  St. 
James'  Park,  and  on  the  other  the  river  shining  with 
a  thousand  tints  of  green  and  gold  with  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  wooded  gardens  of  the  palaces  and  man- 
sions from  Westminster  to  the  Temple ;  when   the 
fleets  of  swans  began  to  pass  "by  on  their  way  to 
build  their  nests  in   the  reedy  islets  by  Richmond 
or   Kew,  the  news  came   from   all   quarters   that, 
amidst  all  this  sweet  stir  of  natural  life,  the  country 
was  stirring  with  fatal  insurrections   from  Kent  to 
the  Scottish  borders. 

The  first  outburst  was  in  London  itself 
A  few  'prentices  were  playing  at  bowls  on  Sun- 
day, April  9th,  in  Moorfields,  during  church  time. 
The  train-bands  tried  to  disperse  them.  They 
fought,  were  routed  by  the  train-bands,  but  rallied 
quickly  to  the  old  cry  of  "Clubs."  All  through 
that  night  we  heard   the   tumult    surging   up  and 


484  ^^^E  ^^^  YTONS  AN-D 

down  through  the  city.  The  watermen,  a  powerful 
body  of  men,  joined  them.  The  cry  was,  "  For  God 
and  King  Charles."  And  not  till  the  Ironsides 
charged  on  them  from  Westminster  was  the  riot 
quelled. 

Then  came  tidings  that  Chepstow  and  Pembroke 
were  taken  by  the  royalists,  and  that  a  Scottish 
army  of  forty  thousand  was  coming  across  the  bor- 
ders to  undo  all  that  had  been  done  and  to  restore 
the  king. 

About  that  time  Roger  came  into  the  chamber 
where  I  was  busied  with  confections,  and  unlacing 
and  laying  aside  his  helmet,  he  sat  down  in  silence. 

His  face  was  fixed  and  very  j^ale. 

"  No  ill-tidings  ?  "  I  said. 

*'  I  ought  not  to  think  so,"  he  replied. 

And  then  he  told  me  of  a  solemn  prayer-meeting, 
held  throughout  the  day  before  at  Windsor  Castle, 
by  the  army  leaders.  How  some  of  them,  being 
"  sore  perplexed  that  what  they  had  judged  to  do 
for  the  good  of  these  poor  nations  had  not  been  ac- 
cepted by  them,  were  minded  to  lay  down  arms, 
disband,  and  return  each  to  his  home,  there  to  suf- 
fer after  the  example  of  Him  who,  having  done  what 
He  could  to  save  His  people,  sealed  His  life  by  suf- 
fering." But  others  were  difierently  minded,  and 
striving  to  trace  back  the  causes  of  their  present 
divisions  and  weakness,  they  came  at  last  to  what 
they  believed  the  root,  those  cursed  carnal  confer- 
ences which  their  own  conceited  wisdom  had 
prompted  them  to  the  year  before  with  the  king's 
party. 


THE  DA  VENANTS.  ^g  5 

Then  Major  Goffe  solemnly  rehearsed  from  the 
Scripture  the  words,  "  Turn  you  at  my  reproof,  and 
I  will  pour  out  my  Spirit  unto  you ;  "  and  thereupon 
their  sin  and  their  duty  was  set  unanimously  with 
weight  on  each  heart,  so  that  none  was  able  to 
speak  a  word  to  each  other  for  bitter  weeping,  at 
the  sense  and  shame  of  their  sins  and  their  base  fear 
of  men."  "  Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  his  Ironsides 
weeping  bitterly !  It  was  a  thing  not  to  forget," 
said  Roger,  pausing. 

"  Then,  Roger,"  said  I,  trembling,  "  if  this  was 
the  sin  they  wept  for,  what  is  the  duty  they  see  be- 
fore them?" 

Roger  bowed  his  forehead  on  his  hands  as  they 
rested  on  the  table  before  him,  and  his  reply  came 
muffled  and  slow. 

" '  To  call  Charles  Stuart,  that  man  of  blood,  to 
an  account  for  that  blood  he  hath  shed  and  mischief 
he  hath  done  to  his  utmost  against  the  Lord's  cause 
and  people  in  these  poor  nations.'  This  is  what 
they  deem  their  duty,"  he  said. 

"  Call  the  king  to  an  account,  Roger !"  I  said, 
"the  king!" 

I  could  scarce  speak  the  woi-d  for  horror. 

"  Kings  have  to  be  called  to  account,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  in  heaven,"  I  said.  "  But  on  earth,  Roger, 
on  earth  never." 

"  Herod  was  called  to  account  on  earth,  Olive," 
said  he. 

"  True,  but  it  was  by  God,  Roger,"  I  said.  "  Not 
by  man !  never  by  man  !" 

41* 


^86  THE  DRAYTONS,  ETC. 

"  By  the  law,  Olive,"  he  said ;  "  by  God's  law, 
which  i«3  above  all  men." 

"  But  what  men  can  ever  have  right  to  execute 
the  law  on  a  king  ?"  I  said  ;  "  on  their  own  king  ?" 

"  Woe  to  the  men  who  have  to  do  it,"  said  Roger ; 
"  but  bitterer  woe  to  the  man  who  does  not  the 
woi'k  God  sets  him  to  do,  whatever  woe  it  brings 
on  the  doing.  Olive,  who  gave,"  he  added,  mourn- 
fully, "  sanction  to  Laud  and  Strafford's  oppressions, 
and  to  Prince  Rupert's  plunderings  ?" 

I  could  only  weep. 

"  Oh,  Roger,"  I  said,  "  let  the  thunderbolt,  or  the 
pestilence,  or  any  of  God's  terrible  angels  do  this 
work  in  His  time.  They  are  strong  and  swift 
enough.     It  is  not  for  men." 

He  made  no  reply. 

"  What  lies  between  this  terrible  resolve  and  its 
execution  ?"  I  asked  at  length. 

"Chepstow  and  Pembroke  to  be  besieged  and 
taken ;  Wales  to  be  reconquered ;  the  Scottish  army 
of  forty  thousand  to  be  driven  back  over  the  bor- 
ders," he  replied. 

"  Then  there  is  a  hope  of  escape  for  the  king  yet." 

"  There  is  an  interval,  Olive,"  he  replied.  "  These 
things  must  take  time.  But  they  must  be  done. 
In  a  few  days,  General  Cromwell  is  to  lead  us  forth 
to  do  them.  The  order  is  given  for  the  army  to 
march  to  Wales." 

I  did  not  venture  to  mention  Lettice's  name  to 
him.  We  both  knew  too  well  what  a  gulf  this  ter- 
rible resolve,  if  ever  it  came  to  action,  must  create 
between  us.     But  before  he  left  he  said, — 


THE  DA  VEX  A  XTS.  48  7 

"  Olive,  I  don't  think  it  is  cowardice  not  to  say 
anything  of  this  to  Lettice  yet.  Her  mother,  she 
writes  to-day,  is  failing  so  sadly.  And  there  are  so 
many  chances  in  battle.  If  I  fall,  I  need  not  leave 
on  her  memory  of  me  what  would  so  embitter  sor- 
row to  hei'. 

"  And  the  king  might  escape,"  thought  L  "  His 
Majesty  had  all  but  succeeded  in  getting  through 
the  bars  of  his  chamber-window  not  a  month  since. 
But  I  did  not  say  this  to  Roger." 

On  the  next  day,  the  3i-d  of  May,  the  army  march- 
ed forth,  and  with  it  Roger  and  Job  Forster.  And 
my  husband  went  with  them  on  his  work  of  mercy. 

So  that  this  summer  of  1648  was  a  very  anxious 
and  solitary  one  for  me.  I  longed  much  to  see  my 
Father,  but  he  was  occupied  in  quelling  insurrection 
in  the  North.  And  the  city  was  so  unquiet,  I 
thought  it  selfish  to  send  for  either  of  my  aunts. 

Not  that  I  was  without  friends.  Now  and  then 
it  fortified  me  greatly  to  have  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  John 
Milton  in  his  small  house  at  Holborn ;  to  hear  his 
strong  words  of  determination  and  hope  for  the 
English  people;  and,  perchance,  to  catch  some 
strains  from  his  organ. 

But  my  chief  solaces  were,  first  the  morning  exer- 
cises, between  six  and  eight  of  the  clock,  at  St. 
Margaret's  Church  near  the  Abby,  where  there  was 
daily  prayer,  and  praise,  and  reading  of  God's  word, 
with  comments  to  press  it  home  to  the  heart,  from 
divers  excellent  and  godly  ministers. 

And  next,  a  friendship  I  had  made  with  good  Mr. 
John  Henry  a  Welsh  gentleman  who  kept  the  royal 


^88  THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 

garden  and  orchard  at  Whitehall,  and  lived  in  a 
pleasant  house  close  on  Whitehall  Stairs.  His  wife 
had  died  scarce  three  years  before,  of  a  consump- 
tion, and  it  was  edifying  to  hear  him  and  his  daugh- 
ters speak  of  her  virtue  and  piety;  how  she  had 
looked  well  to  the  ways  of  her  household,  had  pray- 
ed daily  with  them,  catechized  her  children,  and 
devoted  her  only  son  Philip  to  the  work  of  the  min- 
istry in  his  infiincy,  and  how  a  little  before  she  died 
she  had  said,  "  My  head  is  in  heaven,  my  heart  is  in 
heaven ;  it  is  but  one  step  more  and  I  shall  be  there 
too." 

This  friendship  solaced  me  for  many  causes ;  pri- 
marily for  three :  in  that  Mr.  Henry  was  a  godly 
gentleman  ;  in  that  he  lived  in  a  garden  by  fair  wa- 
ter, which  reminded  me  of  Netherby ;  and  in  that 
he  was  a  Royalist.  For  it  did  my  heart  good  to 
near  some  good  words  spoken  for  the  captive  king, 
poor  gentleman  ;  and  I  have  been  wont  ever  to  gain 
benefit  from  good  men  who  diifer  from  us  on  party 
points.  With  such  we  leave  the  party  difierences, 
and  fly  to  the  common  harmonies,  which  are  deeper. 
Many  a  delightsome  hour  have  I  spent  in  Mr. 
Henry's  house  in  the  orchard  by  the  river,  watching 
the  boats,  and  gay  barges,  and  the  fishers,  and  the 
white  fleets  of  swans,  and  the  flow  of  the  broad 
river  sweeping  by,  always  like  a  poem  of  human 
life,  set  to  a  stately  organ  music,  plying  my  needle 
meanwhile  beside  the  young  daughters  of  the  house, 
with  cheerful  converse.  But  most  of  all  I  loved  to 
hearken  to  the  father's  discourse  concerning  the 
king  and  the  court  in  the  days  gone  by.    How  the 


THE  DA  VENAXTS. 


489 


young  piiuces  used  to  play  with  his  Philip,  and  gave 
him  gifts,  and  had  wondrous  courtesy  for  him ;  and 
how  Archbishop  Laud  took  a  particular  kindness 
for  him  when  he  was  a  child,  because  he  would  be 
very  officious  to  attend  to  the  water-gate  (which 
was  part  of  his  father's  charge),  to  let  the  archbish- 
op through  when  he  came  late  from  council,  to 
cross  the  water  to  Lambeth ;  and  how  afterwards 
the  lad  Philip  had  been  taken  to  see  the  foUen  arch- 
bishop in  the  Tower,  and  he  had  given  him  some 
"  new  money." 

It  was  strange  to  think  how  the  great  River  of 
Time  had  borne  all  that  stately  company  away, 
king,  court,  archbishoji,  council,  like  some  fleeting 
pomp  of  gay  barges  beneath  the  windows,  or  like 
the  masques  and  pageants  they  had  delighted  in,  of 
which  Mr.  Henry  told  me.  It  was  good,  too,  to 
have  such  touches  of  simple  kindness,  as  remember- 
ing a  child's  taste  for  bright  new  money,  thrown 
into  the  dark  picture  we  Pui'itans  had  among  us  of 
the  persecutor  of  our  brethren.  It  is  good  for  the 
persecuted  to  feel  by  some  human  touch  that  their 
persecutors  are  human  ;  good  while  the  persecuted 
suffer,  good  beyond  price  if  ever  they  come  to  rule 
and  judge. 

Sometimes,  moreover,  Mr.  Philip  the  son  came 
home  from  Christchurch,  Oxford,  where  he  was  a 
student,  and  his  discourse  was  wondrous  sacred  and 
pleasant  for  so  young  a  gentleman.  One  thing  I 
remember  he  said  which  was  a  special  solace  to  me. 
He  would  blame  those  who  laid  so  much  stress  on 
every  one  knowing  the  exact  time  of  their  conver- 


490 


THE  DRA  YTONS  AND 


sion.  "  Who  can  so  soon  be  aware  of  the  clay- 
break,"  quoth  he,  "  or  of  the  springing  up  of  the 
seed  sown  ?  The  blind  man  in  the  Gospel  is  our 
example.  This  and  that  concerning  the  recovering 
of  his  sight  he  knew  not :  '  But  this  one  thing  I 
know,  that  whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see.' " 
Which  words  have  often  returned  to  my  comfort. 
In  that,  instead  of  sending  me  back  into  my  past 
life,  and  doAvn  into  my  heart  to  look  for  tokens  of 
grace,  they  set  me  looking  i;p  to  my  Lord,  to  see 
his  gracious  countenance ;  and  in  looking  I  am  en- 
lightened, be  it  for  the  first  time,  or  the  thousand 
and  first. 

Meantime  the  great  tide  of  Time  was  flowing  on, 
bearing  on  its  breast  to  the  sea  royal  fleets,  and 
little  row-boats  such  as  mine. 

In  July  the  sailors  of  the  fleet  suddenly  declared 
for  the  king,  landed  the  Parliament  admiral,  and 
crossing  the  Channel,  took  on  board  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  acknowledging  him  as  their  commander. 

At  this  news  my  heart  beat  as  high  with  hope  as 
the  fiercest  royalist's.  The  Prince  of  Wales  with  a 
fleet  in  the  Downs !  the  king  his  father  in  prison 
close  to  the  shore  at  Carisbrook  !  what  could  hinder 
a  rescue  ?  But  no  rescue  was  attempted.  Weeks 
passed  on  —  the  opportunity  was  lost ;  the  fleet 
was  won  back  to  the  Parliament,  and  the  king  re- 
mained at  Carisbrook.  I  have  never  heard  any  at- 
tempt to  explain  why  the  prince  neglected  this 
chance  of  saving  the  king.  It  made  my  heart  ache 
to  think  of  the  captive  sovereign  watching  all  those 
weeks  for  rescue,  (for  he  sent  to  entreat  it  might  be 


THE  DA  VMA'ANTS. 


491 


attempted)  and  listening  for  the  sound  of  friendly 
guns,  and  the  appearance  of  a  band  of  loyal  seamen, 
all  in  vain. 

For  all  this  time  his  doom  was  coiling  closer  and 
closer  round  him. 

Pembroke  and  Chepstow  were  retaken.  General 
Cromwell  wrote  from  Nottingham  for  shoes  for  his 
"  poor  tried  soldiers,"  wearied  with  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  hasty  marching  across  the  wild  country 
of  Wales  towards  the  north.  In  August  came  the 
tidings  of  the  total  defeat  of  the  Scottish  army  at 
Preston. 

I  had  just  received  the  news  of  this  in  a  letter  from 
my  husband,  and  was  sitting  alone  in  my  chamber, 
tossed  hither  and  thither  in  mind,  as  was  my  wont 
during  those  anxious  months,  scarce  knowing  at 
any  news  whether  to  rejoice  or  to  mourn,  in  that 
every  victory  of  the  array  seemed  but  to  bring  a 
step  nearer  the  fulfillment  of  that  dreadful  purpose 
of  calling  the  king  to  account.  By  way  of  quieting 
these  uneasy  thoughts,  I  rose  to  go  to  good  Mr. 
Henry's,  when  a  little  stir  at  the  door  aroused  me, 
and  in  another  minute  I  was  clasped  to  Aunt  Gre- 
tel's  heart,  sobbing  out  my  gladness  at  seeing  her. . 

"  Hush,  sweetheart,  hush,"  she  said,  "that  is  the 
worst  of  surprises.  I  meant  to  save  thee  suspense, 
and  to  make  as  little  disturbance  as  possible." 

"  I  wanted  thee  so  sorely,"  said  I.  "  It  is  not 
thy  coming  that  has  so  moved  me ;  it  was  the  try- 
ing to  do  without  thee." 

In  half  an  hour  she  had  unpacked  her  small  bun- 
dle, and  established  herself  in  the  guest-chamber. 


492 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


with  everything  belonging  to  lier  as  quietly  in  its 
place,  as  if  it  had  never  known  another.  Her  pres- 
ence brought  an  unspeakable  quiet  with  it.  The 
solitary  house  became  home  again.  And  in  another 
fortnight  we  were  rejoicing  together  over  my  first- 
born, our  little  Magdalene ;  the  fountain  of  delight 
opened  for  us  in  the  desert  of  those  dreary  times. 

And  in  September  my  husband  returned  to  me. 

Preston  was  the  last  battle  of  that  campaign 
worthy  the  name.  The  Scottish  royalist  army  was 
broken  up,  and  General  Cromwell  was  welcomed  in 
Edinburgh,  and  by  the  Covenanters  everywhere,  as 
the  deliverer  of  the  land. 

Throughout  September  the  king  was  holding  con- 
ferences at  Newport  with  the  Commissioners  of  the 
Parliament.  All  bore  witness  to  the  ability  and 
readiness  with  which  he  spoke.  His  hair  had  turn- 
ed gray,  his  face  was  furrowed  with  deep  lines  of 
care,  but  all  the  old  majesty  was  in  his  port,  and 
even  those  who  had  known  him  before  were  sur- 
prised at  his  learning  and  wit. 

But,  alas,  it  was  mere  speech.  The  king  wrote 
to  his  friends  excusing  himself  for  making  con- 
cessions, by  the  assurance  that  he  merely  did  it  in 
order  to  facilitate  his  escape. 

And  more  than  that,  all  the  actors  in  that  drama, 
sincere  or  not,  were  rapidly  fading  into  mere  per- 
formers in  a  pageant.  The  decisive  conferences 
were  held,  the  true  work  was  done.  The  doom  was 
fixed  elsewhere. 

By  the  middle  of  November  the  army,  victorious 
from  Wales  and  Scotland,  and  mindful  of  the  prayeiv 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


493 


meeting  at  Windsor,  was  again  at  St.  Albans,  call- 
ing for  justice  on  the  Chief  Delinquent. 

On  the  29th  of  November  the  king  was  removed 
from  Carisbrook  to  Hurst  Castle,  a  lonely,  bare 
and  melancholy  fort  opposite  to  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
whose  walls  were  washed  by  the  sea. 

On  December  the  2d  the  quiet  of  Mr.  Henry's 
house  and  of  the  royal  orchard  was  broken,  by  the 
arrival  of  a  portion  of  the  Parliament  army  at 
Whitehall,  trampling  down  with  heavy  armed  tread 
the  grass  which  had  grown  in  the  deserted  palace- 
court. 

On  Sunday  there  was  much  preaching  in  many 
quarters,  of  a  kind  little  likely  to  calm  the  storm. 
In  the  churches  the  Presbyterian  preachers  declaim- 
ed fervently  against  the  atrocity  and  iniquity  of 
seizing  the  person  of  the  king.  In  the  parks  Inde- 
pendent soldiers  preached  on  the  equality  of  all  be- 
fore the  laAv  of  God.  "  Tophet  is  ordained  of  old," 
one  of  them  took  for  his  text.  For  the  king  it  is 
prepared.  A  notable  example,  my  husband  said, 
of  that  random  reading  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures 
which  turns  them  into  a  lottery  of  texts  to  conjure 
with,  like  a  witch's  charms. 

In  the  Parliament  my  old  hero  Mr.  Prinne,  with 
his  cropped  cars  ar.d  his  branded  forehead,  stood 
up  and  boldly  pleaded  for  the  king,  never  braver,  I 
thought,  than  then. 

On  the  5th  of  December  came  another  invasion 
of  the  Parliament  House,  Colonel  Pride  and  his  sol- 
diers  turning   all   the   Presbyterian   and  Royalist 
members  back  from  the  doors.     "  Pride's  Purge." 
42 


^g^  THE  DBA  YTONS  A ND 

It  was  a  sorely  perplexed  time.  Had  the  very 
act  of  despotism  which  first  roused  the  nation  to 
the  point  of  civil  war  now  to  be  repeated  in  the 
name  of  liberty  for  the  rum  of  the  king  ? 

What  are  we  fighting  for  ?  I  used  to  ask  myself. 
The  battle-cries,  as  well  as  the  front  of  the  armies, 
had  so  strangely  changed.  For  the  king  and  Par- 
liament ?  The  king  was  in  prison.  The  Parliament 
was  reduced  to  fifty  members.  For  the  nation? 
The  nation  was  half  in  insurrection.  For  liberty  ? 
No  party  seemed  to  allow  it  to  any  other. 

Roger  and  the  Ironsides  alone  seemed  clear  as  to 
the  answer.  "  We  are  fighting — not  under  six  hun- 
dred members  of  Parliament,  nor  under  fifty,  but 
under  one  leader  given  us  by  God  ;  under  General 
Cromwell,"  he  said.  And  he  is  fighting  for  the 
country,  to  save  it  and  make  it  free  and  righteous, 
and  glorious  in  spite  of  itself.  When  he  has  done 
it,  it  will  be  acknowledged.  Till  then  he  must  be 
content  to  be  misjudged,  and  we  must  content  he 
should  be,  as  the  heroes  have  been  too  often,  and 
the  saints  nearly  always,  until  their  work,  perhaps 
until  their  life,  is  done." 

I  lay  awake  much  during  those  nights  of  Decem- 
ber. My  little  Magdalene  was  often  restless,  and  I 
used  to  listen  to  the  flow  of  the  river  through  the 
silence  of  the  sleeping  city  and  think  how  the  sea 
was  washing  the  walls  of  the  king's  desolate  prison, 
praying  for  him,  and  for  General  Cromwell,  and  all, 
and  thanking  God  that  my  lot  was  the  lowly  one 
of  submitting  instead  of  that  of  deciding,  in  these 
terrible  times. 


THE  DA  VEX  A  XTS.  ^o  5 

Bdt  a  sorer  sorrow  was  advancing  slowly  on  us 
nil.  On  the  10th  of  December  came  an  imploring 
letter  from  Lettice,  saying  that  her  mother  had  fail- 
ed sadly  during  the  last  week,  that  she  and  her 
mother  longed  for  Dr.  Antony,  and  her  mother  even 
more  for  me  and  the  babe. 

The  next  day  Ave  were  on  the  road  to  Netherby, 
Aunt  Gretel,  my  husband,  the  babe,  and  I. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  second  day  when 
we  reached  the  dear  old  house. 

We  were  met  with  a  hush,  which  fell  on  me  like 
a  chill.  The  Lady  Lucy  had  fallen  into  one  of  those 
quiet  sleeps  which  of  late  had  become  so  rare  with 
her,  and  the  whole  household  was  quieted  so  as  not 
to  disturb  her. 

The  subdued  tone  into  which  everything  falls,  in 
a  house  in  which  there  has  been  long  sickness,  and 
where  everything  has  been  ordered  with  reference 
to  one  sufferer,  fell  heavily  on  us,  coming  in  from 
the  fresh  autumn  air  with  voices  attuned  to  the 
bracing  winds,  and  hearts  eager  with  expectations 
of  welcome.  It  was  like  being  ushered  into  a  church 
hushed  for  some  mournful  ceremony  ;  and  we  step- 
ped noiselessly,  and  spoke  under  our  breath,  until 
an  unsubdued  wail  from  the  only  creature  of  the 
company  unable  to  understand  the  change,  the  baby 
waking  suddenly  from  slecj),  broke  the  dreary  spell 
of  stillness. 

The  Lady  Lucy  heard  the  little  one's  cry,  and 
Beut  to  crave  a  glimpse  of  us  all  that  night. 

In  her  chamber  alone,  throughout  the  house  that 
anxious  hush  was  absent.     She  spoke  in  her  natural 


496  THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 

voice,  tliougli  now  lower  than  even  its  usual  sweet 
low  tones,  from  weakness.  She  had  a  bright  wel 
coming  word  for  each,  and  while  gratefully  heeding 
my  husband's  counsel,  declared  that  baby  would  be 
her  head  physician.  The  very  touch  of  the  soft  lit- 
tle fingers  and  the  sonnd  of  her  little  cooings  and 
Growings  had  healing  in  them,  she  said. 

She  looked  less  changed  than  I  had  expected. 
But  my  husband  shook  his  head  and  would  give  lit- 
tle promise.  Lettice  seemed  to  me  more  altered 
than  her  mother.  Her  eyes  had  a  steady,  deep, 
watchful  look  in  them,  very  unlike  her  wonted 
changeful  brilliancy.  She  said  nothing  beyond  a 
few  words  of  Avelcome  to  me  that  night.  But  the 
next  morning  the  first  moment  we  were  alone  to- 
gether she  took  my  hands,  and  pressing  them  to  her 
heart,  she  said, — 

"  Tell  me  Olive  ;  I  have  been  afraid  to  ask  any 
one  else,  but  I  must  know.  What  do  they  mean  by 
Petitions  from  the  army  for  justice  on  the  King  ?  " 

I  was  so  startled  by  her  sudden  appeal,  I  could 
not  meet  her  eyes  nor  think  what  to  say.  I  could 
only  murmur  something  about  there  having  been  so 
many  Petitions,  Remonstrances,  and  Declarations, 
wbich  had  ended  in  talking. 

"  True,"  said  she, "  but  the  army  are  like  no  other 
party  in  the  state.  They  do  not  end  with  talking. 
They  know  what  they  want,  and  mean  what  they 
say,  and  do  what  they  mean.  What  do  they 
mean  by  Petitions  against  the  Chief  Delinquent  ?  " 
"Many  do  think,  Lettice,"!  said,"  that  the  king  him- 
Bolf,  and  not  only  his  counsellors,  began  all  the  evil." 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


497 


"  I  know,"  she  replied.  "  But  they  have  had  jus- 
tice enough  on  the  king,  I  should  think,  to  satisfy 
any  one.  They  have  deprived  him  of  all  power, 
separated  him  from  the  queen  and  the  royal  chil- 
dren, and  all  who  love  him,  and  shut  him  up  behind 
iron  bars.  And  now,  they  petition  for  justice  on 
him.  What  would  they  do  to  him  Avorse,  Olive  ? 
What  can  he  sufier  more  ?  What  has  the  king  left 
but  life?" 

I  could  not  answer  her. 

"  To  touch  that,  Olive,"  she  continued,  looking 
steadily  into  my  eyes,  and  compelling  me  by  the 
very  intensity  of  her  gaze  to  meet  them,  "  to  touch 
that  would  be  crime,  the  worst  of  crimes.  It  would 
be  regicide,  parricide." 

"  But  how  could  it  ever  be,  Olive  ?  "  She  went 
on.  "  They  have  assassinated  kings  I  know  before 
now.  But  a  king  brought  to  justice  (as  they  call  it) 
like  a  common  criminal !  Since  the  world  was,  such 
a  thing  was  never  known.  It  can  never  be,  Olive, 
she  added  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  I  have  heard  the 
king  dreads  assassination.  Do  you  ?  Could  his 
enemies  descend  to  that  depth  ?  " 

"Never,  Lettice,"  I  replied,  "  never."  And  in 
saying  thus  I  could  meet  her  eyes  frankly  and  fear- 
lessly. 

Her  face  lighted  up. 

"  Never  !  no,  I  believe  not.  Then  there  can  surely 
be  little  fear.  There  is  no  tribunal  which  can  judge 
the  king.  No  bar  for  him  to  stand  arralscned  be- 
fore but  the  judgment-seat  of  God,  A  king  Avas 
aever  condemned  and  put  to  death  deliberately  and 
42* 


498  THE  BRA  YTOyS  AND 

solemnly  in  the  face  of  his  own  people,  and  of  all 
the  naticns.  Never  since  the  world  was.  And  it 
never  could  be.  From  assassination  you  are  sure 
he  is  safe.  Be  honest  Avith  me,  Olive.  There  are 
base  men  in  all  parties.     You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  of  my  life,"  I  said,  "  as  sure  as  of  my 
father's  word,  or  Roger's." 

"  Then  there  can  be  no  reason  to  fear,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  cast  away  this  awful  dread.  Oh,  Olive,"  she 
exclaimed,  bursting  into  tears,  "  you  have  brought 
me  new  life.  Do  you  know  that  sometimes  during 
these  last  few  days,  since  I  heard  of  tliose  Petitions, 
I  have  almost  prayed  that  if  such  a  fearful  crime 
and  curse  could  be  hanging  over  England,  my 
Mother  might  be  taken  to  God  first,  and  learn  about 
it  first  there,  where  we  shall  understand  it  all.  But 
you  have  comforted  me,  Olive.  I  need  make  no 
such  prayers.  What  I  have  so  dreaded  can  never 
be." 

I  felt  almost  guilty  of  falsehood  in  letting  her 
thus  take  comfort.  Yet  if  my  husband's  fears  about 
Lady  Lucy  were  well-founded,  there  was  little  need 
for  such  a  prayer.  And  to  Time  I  might  surely 
leave  it  to  unveil  the  horrors  that  after  all  might 
be  averted. 

But  no  intervention  from  above  or  from  below 
came  to  avert  the  steady  \mfolding  of  the  great 
tragedy  on  which  the  nation's  eyes  were  fixed. 

The  king  went  on  to  his  doom,  as  the  doomed  in 
Bome  terrible  old  tragedy  of  destiny,  tremblingly 
watchful  for  the  storm  to  break  from  the  side  whence 


THE  DA  VKXAXrS. 


499 


there  was  no  danger,  but  all  the  thne  advancing 
with  blind  fearlessness  to  confront  the  lightnings 
which  were  to  smite  him. 

In  the  solitary  sea-washed  walls  of  Hurst  Castle 
he  listened  for  the  stealthy  tread  of  the  assassin. 
And  when  at  midnight,  on  the  17th  of  December, 
the  creak  of  the  drawbridge  was  heard  between  the 
dash  of  the  waves,  and  then  the  tramp  of  armed 
horsemen  echoing  beneath  the  castle-gate,  the  king 
rose  and  spent  an  hour  alone  in  prayer.  Colonel 
Harrison,  who  commanded  these  men,  had  been 
named  to  him  as  one  likely  to  be  employed  to  assas- 
sinate him.  "  I  trust  in  God  who  is  my  helper," 
said  the  king  to  his  faithful  servant,  Herbert ;  "  but 
I  would  not  be  surprised.  This  is  a  fit  place  for 
such  a  purpose,"  and  he  was  moved  to  tears ;  no 
unmanly  tears,  and  no  groundless  fears.  He  was 
not  the  first  of  his  unhappy  race  who  had  been  the 
victim  of  treacherous  midnight  murders.  But  when 
on  the  morrow  he  recognized  in  Colonel  Harrison's 
frank'  countenance  and  honest  converse  one  incap- 
able of  such  baseness,  his  spirits  rose,  and  he  rode 
away  almost  gayly  with  his  escort  of  gallant  and 
well-mounted  men,  courteous  enough  in  their  de- 
meanour to  him.  In  the  daylight,  and  in  the  royal 
halls  of  Windsor,  where  they  lodged  him,  he  felt 
strong  again  in  the'sacredness  of  the  king's  person,  and 
alas  he  fancied  himself  strong  in  those  false  schemes 
of  policy  Avhich,  and  which  only,  had  divested  his 
royal  person  of  its  sacredness  in  the  hearts  of  his  peo- 
ple. "  He  had  yet  three  games  to  play,"  he  said, 
"  the  least  of  which  gave  him  hope  of  regaining  all." 


500 


THE  DJRA  YTONS  AND 


On  the  5th  of  January  he  gave  orders  for  sowing 
melon-seed  at  Wimbledon ;  and  dAvelt  on  Lord 
OiTaond's  work  for  him  in  Ii*eland.  He  made  a  jest 
of  the  threat  of  bringing  him  to  a  public  trial. 
Kings  had  been  killed  in  battle,  treacherously  put 
to  agonizing  deaths  in  dungeons  whose  walls  tell  no 
tales,  and  let  no  cries  of  anguish  through,  secretly 
stabbed  at  midnight.  But  the  rebels  it  seemed 
plain  were  not  foes  of  that  stamp.  Even  the  exam- 
ple three  of  his  Cavaliers  had  lately  given  them  in 
treacherously  assassinating  Rainsborough,  one  of 
Cromwell's  bravest  officers  at  Doncaster,  kindled  in 
the  most  fanatical  of  the  Roundheads  no  emulation, 
but  simply  a  burning  indignation  and  contempt. 
Save  the  sword  of  battle,  or  the  dagger  of  the  mur- 
derer, no  weapon  was  known  wherewith  to  kill  a 
king.  The  Roundheads  did  not  number  assassina- 
tion among  their  "  instruments  of  justice."  The 
war  was  over.  What  then  was  there  for  His  Ma- 
jesty to  fear  ? 

Strafford,  indeed,  had  been  almost  as  confident  up 
to  the  last.  And  neither  gray  hairs  or  consecration 
had  saved  the  Archbishop's  head  from  the  scaffold. 
But  between  an  anointed  king  and  the  loftiest  of 
his  subjects,  according  to  the  royal  and  the  royalist 
creed,  the  distinction  was  not  of  degree  but  of  na- 
ture. 

All  the  courts  of  Europe  surely  would  rise  and 
interfere  ere  a  king  should  be  tried  before  a  tribunal 
of  his  lieges,  of  creatures  who  held  honour  and  life 
by  his  breath. 

Nor  only  earthly  courts.     Would  the  One  Tri» 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS.  501 

bunal  before  whicli  a  sovereign  alone  could  be 
summoned,  suffer  such  an  infringement  of  its 
rights  ? 

So  the  king  went  on  jesting  at  the  thought  of  his 
subjects  bringing  him  to  trial,  playing  his  "  three 
games,"  and  peacefully  sowing  seeds  for  more  har- 
vests than  one. 

And  meanwhile  Cromwell  came  back  slowly  ad- 
vancing from  Scotland  to  London ;  Petitions  for 
Justice  on  the  Chief  Delinquent  lay  on  the  table  of 
the  House  of  Commons  not  unheeded ;  on  the  6th 
of  January,  Colonel  Pride,  with  his  soldiers,  guard- 
ed the  door  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  sent 
thence  every  member  who  disposed  still  to  prolong 
treaties  with  the  king  ;  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same 
6th  of  January,  General  Cromwell  was  thanked 
by  the  "purged"  house,  or  Rump,  of  fifty  mem- 
bers, for  his  services,  and  the  High  Court  of  Justice 
was  instituted  for  the  trial  of  "  Charles  Stuart,  for 
traitorously  and  tyrannically  seeking  to  overthrow 
the  rights  and  liberties  of  the  people."  And  on  the 
19th  of  January,  not  three  weeks  after  he  had  been 
tranquilly  planning  at  Westminster  for  his  summer 
garden  crops,  and  sowing  seed  for  other  harvests  in 
Ireland,  the  king  was  sitting  in  Westminster  Hall 
arraigned  before  this  Court  as  a  "tyrant,  traitor, 
and  murderer." 

And  still  only  Avere  the  heavens  unmoved,  but 
not  a  word  of  remonstrance  or  of  o-enerous  pleadinir 
had  come  from  one  crowned  head  in  Europe. 

But  meantime  over  our  little  world  at  Nethei'by 


502 


THE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


that  awful  Presence  was  hovering  to  which  all  the 
outward  terrors  that  may,  or  may  not  surround  it, 
the  midnight  dagger,  tlie  headsman's  axe,  the  crowds 
of  eager  gazers  around  the  scaffold,  are  but  as  the 
trappings  of  the  warrior  to  his  sword,  or  the  giit- 
ter  of  the  axe  to  its  edge.  Death  was  silently  wear- 
ing away  the  little  remaining  strength  of  Lady 
Lucy  Davenant. 

There  was  one  amongst  us  nearer  the  besinninc; 
of  the  new  life  than  any  of  us  knew,  so  near  that 
the  roar  of  the  political  tempest  around  us  was 
hushed  ere  it  reached  her  chamber,  and  she  lay 
on  the  threshold  of  the  other  world  almost  as 
unconscious  of  the  storms  of  this  as  our  little  infant 
Magdalene,  whose  cradle  she  used  to  delight  to 
have  beside  her. 

I  can  remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  the  dim 
tender  smile  with  which  she  used  to  watch  the  babii 
asleep  beside  her. 

Once  she  said  to  me, — 

"  There  seems  to  me  something  strangely  alike, 
Olive,  in  the  darling's  place  and  mine,  though  to  all 
outward  seeming  so  different.  I  lie  and  look  at 
her  and  think  of  the  angels  in  the  Percy  Shrine  at 
the  Minster  at  Beverly,  h'ow  they  bear  in  their 
arms  to  Jesus  a  little  helpless  new-born  soul,  and 
He  stretches  out  His  hands  to  take  it  to  His  bosom 
— a  soul  new-born  from  death,  to  the  deathless  life 
with  Him. 

"  Sometimes  it  seems  like  that,  Olive,  what  is 
coming  to  me;  so  great  and  perfect  the  change. 
Sometimes  so   easy  and  simple;  more  like  laying 


THE  DA  V.  ZNANTS. 


503 


aside  garments  we  have  worn  through  the  night 
bathing  in  the  water  of  life,  and  stepj)ing  refreshed, 
strong,  and  '  clothed  in  raiment  clean  and  wliite  ' — 
into  the  next  chamber,  to  meet  Him  who  awaits  us 
there.  So  Utile  the  change,  for  we  have  in  us  the 
treasure  we  shall  bear  with  us.  The  new  eternal 
life  is  in  our  Lord,  and  not. in  any  state  or  time  ; 
and  since  we  have  him  with  us,  both  here  and  there, 
it  seems  only  like  stepping  a  little  further  into  the 
Father's  house — from  the  threshold  to  the  inner 
chambers — and  hearing  Him  nearer  and  seeing  Him 
more  clearly.  Tell  Lettice  I  had  these  comforting 
thoughts,  Olive,"  she  would  say;  "I  cannot  speak 
to  her,  she  is  too  much  moved ;  and  she  wants 
me  to  say  I  long  to  stay  on  earth,  and  I  cannot, 
Olive.  I  cannot  feel  at  home  any  more  here  since 
Harry  is  gone.  And  I  am  so  weak  and  sinful,  I 
may  do  harm  as  well  as  good  by  stayhig  longer, 
even  to  Lettice,  poor  tender  child.  The  Avorld — at 
least  the  world  here  in  England — is  very  dark  to 
me.  And  sometimes  I  think  it  will  all  soon  end, 
not  this  war  only,  but  all  wars,  and  the  kingdom 
come  for  which  the  Church  prayed  so  long,  and  the 
glorious  Epiphany." 

One  thing  I  remarked  with  Lady  Lucy,  as  with 
others  whom  since  I  have  watched  passing  fx'om 
this  world  of  shadows  into  the  world  of  real  things. 
The  lesser  beliefs  which  separate  Christians  seemed 
forgotten,  fallen  far  back  into  the  distance  and  the 
shade,  in  the  light  of  the  great  truths  which  are  our 
life — which  are  Christianity.  The  spontaneous  utter- 
ances of  such  Christian  deathbeds  as  I  have  watched, 


504 


TEE  BRA  YTONS  AND 


have  had  little  of  party-beliefs,  and  of  party-politics 
nothing.     As  Lady  Lucy  herself  once  said, — 

"  Oh,  if  all  could  only  see  Him  as  He  is  !  We  are 
divided  because  we  are  fragments  ;  the  whole  race 
is  fallen  and  broken  into  fragments.  But  in  Him, 
in  Christ,  all  the  broken  fragments  are  one  again 
and  live.   Truth  is  no  fair  ideal  vision  :  it  is  Christ." 

And  again  she  would  speak  of  her  death  with  in- 
finite comfort.  "  He  died  really — really  as  I  must," 
she  said ;  "  the  flesh  failed,  the  heart  failed,  but  he 
overcame.  He  offered  Himself  up  without  spot  to 
God,  and  me,  sin-stained  as  I  am,  in  Him — the  Son, 
the  Redeemer,  the  Lord.  And  the  Father  was  in 
Him,  reconciling  the  world  to  Himself  And  we 
are  in  Him,  reconciled,  for  ever  and  ever." 

Now  and  then  she  w^ould  ask  if  we  had  heard 
news  of  the  king.  And  we  gave  her  such  general 
and  vague  accounts  as  we  dared,  deeming  it  unmeet 
to  distress  her  with  perplexities  which  would  so  soon 
be  unperplexed  to  her.  And  this  was  easy,  her  atten- 
tion being  seldom  now  fixed  long  on  any  subject. 

On  the  6th  of  January  Roger  came  on  his  way  to 
London  from  the  North — on  the  old  Christmas  day, 
which  Lady  Lucy  had  continued  to  keep. 

In  the  morning  Lettice  had  i-ead  her  the  gospel 
for  the  day. 

In  the  afternoon  when  she  saw  Roger,  connecting 
him  with  the  army  and  the  king,  she  asked  at  once 
for  his  Majesty. 

"  The  king  is  at  Windsor,"  Roger  said. 

"  At  home  !  "  she  said  witli  a  smile  ;  "  at  home 
again  for  the  Christmas.     That  is  well." 


THE  DA  YEN  ANTS.  .^„ 

Roger  made  no  reply,  and,  to  tlie  relief  of  all, 
her  mind  passed  contentedly  from  the  subject.  She 
tookLettice's  hand  and  Roger's  in  hers,  and  pressed 
them  to  her  lips,  and  murmured,  «  My  God,  I  thank 
Thee."  And  then,  as  a  fahitness  came  over  her, 
we  all  withdrew  hut  Lettice. 

Roger  and  I  were  alone  in  the  ante-room.  He 
was  waiting  to  bid  Lettice  farewell.  When  she 
came  out  of  her  mother's  chamber  she  sat  down  on 
the  window  seat,  her  eyes  cast  down,  her  trembling 
mute  lips  almost  as  white  as  her  cheeks. 

Roger  went  towards  her,  and  stood  before  her; 
but  she  made  no  movement  and  did  not  even  lift 
her  eyeUds,  heavy  and  swollen  as  they  were  with 
much  weeping. 

"Lettice,"  he  said,  "let  me  say  one  word  before 
r  go.  Let  me  say  one  word  to  comfort  you  in  this 
sorrow,  for  is  not  your  sorrow  mine  ?" 

"Of  what  avail?  "she  said.  "You  are  taking 
the  king  to  London  to  die.  The  greatest  crime 
and  curse  is  about  to  fall  on  the  nation,  and  you 
will  go  and  share  and  sanction  it,  and  make  it  your 
own.  No  word  of  mine  will  move  you— how  can 
word  of  yours  comfort  me  ?  You  will,  if  you  are 
commanded  by  him  you  have  chosen  for  your  priest 
and  king,  keep  guard  by  the  scaffold  while  the  kinr. 
is  murdered.  Did  not  you  tell  me  so  two  houi^ 
since  ?  Did  not  I  entreat  and  implore  and  tell  you 
you  were  digging  a  gulf,  not  only,  between  me  and 
you,  but  between  you  and  heaven  ?  " 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  silent  and   motion- 
less, and  then  he  said:     "And  did   I  not  tell  you 
43  ^      ' 


506 


THE  DRA  YTOiVS  AND 


that,  as  a  soldier  I  could  do  no  otherwise  unless  1 
deserted  my  chief,  nor  as  a  patriot  unless  I  betrayed 
my  country  ?  It  is  the  king  who  has  betrayed  us, 
Lettice ;  who  has  refused  to  let  us  save  him  and 
trust  him.  The  hand  that  could  have  stopped  all 
the  oppression  aud  injustice  at  the  source — from  the 
befjinuino;  —and  did  not,  must  be  the  guiltiest  hand 
of  all.  It  is  faheliood  that  is  leading  the  king  to 
this  end,  not  the  country,  nor  the  Parliament,  nor 
General  Cromwell." 

At  last  she  looked  up, — "  Do  not  try  to  persuade 
me,  Roger,"  she  said, "  God  knows  I  am  too  willing 
to  be  persuaded.  I  cannot  reason  about  it  any  more 
than  about  loving  my  Mother  or  obeying  my  Father. 
I  dare  not  listen  to  you.  I  am  untrue,"  she  added, 
bursting  at  length  into  passionate  tears,  "  I  have 
been  a  traitor,  to  let  my  Mother  be  deceived — to  let 
her  thank  God  for  what  can  never  be  !  " 

"  Lettice,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  anguish,  "  if  you 
reproach  yourself,  if  you  call  yourself  a  traitor,  what 
am  I  ?  " 

'-  You  are  as  true  as  the  Gospel,  Roger,"  she  said, 
her  sobs  subsiding  into  quiet  weeping ;  "  as  true  as 
heaven  itself.  You  would  never  have  done  what  I 
did.  You  would  break  your  own  heart  and  every 
one's  rather  than  utter  or  act  one  falsehood,  or  neg- 
lect one  thing  you  believe  to  be  duty.  That  is  what 
makes  it  so  terrible." 

His  voice  trembled  as  he  replied, — "  You  trust  me, 
and  yet  you  think  me  capable  of  a  terrible  crime." 

"  I  know  that  to  lay  sacrilegious  hands  on  the 
king  is  an  unspeakable   crime,"  said  she ;  "  but  to 


THE  DA  VF.h^ANTS. 


507 


trust  you  is  no  choice  of  mine.  I  cannot  tear  tlie 
trust  of  my  heart  from  you  if  I  would,  lioger,  and 
God  knows  I  would  not  if  I  could." 

A  light  of  almost  triumphant  joy  passed  over  his 
face,  as,  standing  erect  before  her,  with  folded  arras, 
he  looked  on  her  down-cast  face, — 

"  Then  the  time  must  come  when  a  delusion  tliat 
cannot  separate  us  in  heart  can  no  longer  separate 
us  in  life,"  he  said,  in  tones  scarcely  audible. 
"  Your  Mother  said  the  truth,  Lettice,  when  she 
ioined  our  hands.  Such  words  from  her  lips  at 
such  a  time  are  surely  prophecy." 

Lettice  shook  her  head, 

"  My  Mother  saw  beyond  this  world,"  she  said, 
mournfully ;  "  where  there  are  no  delusions,  and  no 
divisions,  and  no  partings." 

He  bent  before  her  for  an  instant,  and  pressed  her 
hand  to  his  lips.     And  so  they  parted. 

That  night  Lettice  and  I  watched  together  by 
Lady  Lucy's  bedside.  And  all  things  that  could 
distract  and  divide  seemed  for  the  time  to  be  dis- 
solved in  the  peace  of  her  presence. 

She  revived  once  or  twice  and  spoke,  althougli  it 
seemed  more  in  rapt  soliloquy  than  to  any  mortal 
ear. 

"  Everything  grows  clear  to  me,"  she  said  once  ; 
"  everything  I  cared  most  to  see.  The  divisions 
and  perplexities  which  bewilder  us  here  are  only 
the  colours  the  light  puts  on  when  it  steps  on  earth. 
On  earth  it  is  scarlet  and  purple  and  bordered  work  ; 
in  heaven  it  is  fine  linen,  clean  and  wliite,  clean  and 
white." 


5o8 


THE  DRAYTONS  AND 


Often  she  murmured  in  clear  nipid  tones,  very 
awful  in  the  silence  of  the  sick-chamber  at  night, 
the  words, — 

"  The  king,  the  king  1  " 

Lettice  and  I  feai-ed  to  go  to  Tier  to  ask  v/hat  she 
meant,  di'cading  some  question  Ave  dared  not  an- 
swer. We  thought  belike  lier  mind  was  wandering, 
as  she  did  not  seem  to  be  appealing  to  us  or  look- 
ing for  an  answer. 

But  at  length  the  words  came  more  distinctly, 
though  broken  and  low,  and  then  we  knew  what 
they  meant, — 

"  The  King  !  King  of  kings  !  Faithful  and  true. 
Mine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty.  He 
shall  deliver  the  needy  when  he  crieth,  King  of  the 
poor.  King  of  the  nations.  King  of  kings,  Faithful 
and  true.  I  am  passing  beyond  the  shadows.  I 
begin  to  see  the  lights  Avhich  cast  them.  Beyond 
the  storms — I  see  the  angels  of  the  winds.  Beyond 
the  -thunders — they  are  music,  from  above.  Be- 
yond the  clouds — they  are  the  golden  streets,  from 
aboA'e.  Mine  eyes  shall  see  the  King — as  He  is  ; 
as  thou  art ;  no  change  in  Thee,  but  a  change  in 
me.     In  Thy  beauty  as  Thou  art." 

All  the  following  day  the  things  of  earth  Avere 
groAving  dim  to  her,  but  to  the  last  her  courtesy 
seemed  to  surviA'e  her  strength.  No  little  service 
was  unacknoAvledged ;  even  Avhen  the  voice  was 
inaudible,  the  parched  lips  moved  in  thanks  or  in 
prayer. 

And  on  the  early  morning  of  the  21st  of  Janua- 
ry she  passed  away  from  us,  her  band  iu  Lettice's, 


THE  DA  VENANTS. 


509 


her  eyes  deep  with  the  awful  joy  of  some  sight 
we  could  not  see. 

On  the  evening  of  that  very  day  came  the  tidings 
that  the  king  had  been  hrought,  on  the  1 9th  of  Jan- 
uary, as  a  criminal,  before  the  High  Court  of  Jus- 
tice in  Westminster  Hall,  to  be  ti'ied  for  his  life  as 
the  "  principal  author  of  the  calamities  of  the  na- 
tion." 

When  Lettice  heard  it,  the  first  burst  of  tears 
came  breaking  the  stupor  of  her  sorrow,  as  she  sob- 
bed on  my  shoulder,  "  Thank  God  she  is  safe,  be- 
yond the  storms  of  this  terrible  distracted  world. 
She  is  gone  where  she  will  never  more  be  perplexed 
what  to  believe  or  what  to  do.'* 

"  She  is  gone,"  said  my  Father,  tenderly  taking 
one  of  her  hands  in  his,  "  where  loyalty  and  love 
of  country,  and  liberty  and  law  are  never  at  vari- 
ance ;  where  the  noblest  feelings  and  the  noblest 
hearts  are  never  ranged  against  each  other.  And 
we  hope  to  follow  her  thither." 

"  But  oh,"  sobbed  Lettice,  "  this  terrible  space 
between } " 

"  Look  up  and  press  forward,  my  child,"  he  re- 
plied, "  and  the  way  will  become  clear.  Step  by 
step,  day  by  day;  the  space  between  is  the  way 
thither." 


43* 


317 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 

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